LIBRARY 

I    UNIVERSITY  •?    ] 
CALIFORNIA 


THIS  series  of  SCANDINAVIAN  CLASSICS  is  published 
by  The  American  Scandinavian  Foundation  in  the 
belief  that  greater  familiarity  with  the  chief  literary 
monuments  of  the  North  will  help  Americans  to  a 
better  understanding  of  Scandinavians,  and  thus  serve 
to  stimulate  their  sympathetic  cooperation  to  good  ends 


SCANDINAVIAN  CLASSICS 
VOLUME  IV 

MASTER  OLOF 


y  by  The  ^American  Scandinavian  Foundation 


3  /Ti  * 

LOAN  STACK 


2).  ®.  Updike  •  The  <Merrymount  Tress  •  'Boston  •  U.  S. 


r   l 
A?  3 


INTRODUCTION 


THE  original  prose  version  of  Master  Olof,  which  is 
here  presented  for  the  first  time  in  English  form,  was 
written  between  June  8  and  August  8,  1872,  while  Strind- 
berg,  then  only  twenty-three  years  old,  was  living  with 
two  friends  on  one  of  the  numerous  little  islands  that  lie 
between  Stockholm  and  the  open  sea. 

Up  to  that  time  he  had  produced  half-a-dozen  plays, 
one  of  which  had  been  performed  at  the  Royal  Theatre 
of  Stockholm  and  had  won  him  the  good-will  and  finan- 
cial support  of  King  Carl  XV.  Thus  he  had  been  able  to 
return  to  the  University  of  Upsala,  whence  he  had  been 
driven  a  year  earlier  by  poverty  as  well  as  by  spiritual 
revolt.  During  his  second  term  of  study  at  the  old  uni- 
versity Strindberg  wrote  some  plays  that  he  subsequently 
destroyed.  In  the  same  period  he  not  only  conceived  the 
idea  later  developed  in  Master  Olof,  but  he  also  acquired 
the  historical  data  underlying  the  play  and  actually  began 
to  put  it  into  dialogue. 

Duringthat  same  winterof  1871-72  he  read  extensively, 
although  his  reading  probably  had  slight  reference  to  the 
university  curriculum.  The  two  works  that  seem  to  have 
taken  the  lion's  share  of  his  attention  were  Goethe's  youth- 
ful drama  Goetz  von  Berlichingen  and  Buckle's  History  of 
Civilization  in  England.  Both  impressed  him  deeply,  and 
both  became  in  his  mind  logically  connected  with  an  ex- 
ternal event  which,  perhaps, had  touched  his  supersensitive 
soul  more  keenly  than  anything  else:  an  event  concerning 
which  he  says  in  the  third  volume  of  The  Bondwoman  s  Son, 
that "  he  had  just  discovered  that  the  men  of  the  Paris  Com- 
mune merely  put  into  action  what  Buckle  preached." 


167 


vi  INTRODUCTION 

Such  were  the  main  influences  at  work  on  his  mind 
when,  early  in  1872,  his  royal  protector  died,  and  Strind- 
berg  found  himself  once  more  dependent  on  his  own  re- 
sources. To  continue  at  the  university  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, and  he  seems  to  have  taken  his  final  departure  from 
it  without  the  least  feeling  of  regret.  Unwise  as  he  may 
have  been  in  other  respects,  he  was  wise  enough  to  realize 
that,  whatever  his  goal,  the  road  to  it  must  be  of  his  own 
making.  Returning  to  Stockholm,  he  groped  around  for 
a  while  as  he  had  done  a  year  earlier,  when  he  even  tried 
to  eke  out  a  living  as  the  editor  of  a  trade  journal.  Yet  the 
seeds  sown  within  him  during  the  previous  winter  were 
sprouting.  An  irresistible  impulse  urged  him  to  continue 
the  work  of  Buckle.  History  and  philosophy  were  the  ulti- 
mate ends  tempting  his  mind,  but  first  of  all  he  was  im- 
pelled to  express  himself  in  terms  of  concrete  life,  and  the 
way  had  been  shown  him  by  Goethe.  Moved  by  Goethe's 
example,  he  felt  himself  obliged  to  break  through  the  sti- 
fling forms  of  classical  drama.  "No  verse,  no  eloquence,  no 
unity  of  place,"  was  the  resolution  he  formulated  straight- 
way.* 

Having  armed  himself  with  a  liberal  supply  of  writ- 
ing-paper, he  joined  his  two  friends  in  the  little  island  of 
Kymmendo.  Of  money  he  had  so  little  that,  but  for  the 
generosity  of  one  of  his  friends,  he  would  have  had  to  leave 
the  island  in  the  autumn  without  settling  the  small  debt 
he  owed  for  board  and  lodging.  Yet  those  months  were 
happy  indeed — above  all  because  he  felt  himself  moved  by 
an  inspiration  more  authentic  than  he  had  ever  before  ex- 
perienced. Thus  page  was  added  to  page,  and  act  to  act, 
until  at  last,  in  the  surprisingly  brief  time  of  two  months, 

*  See  again  The  Bondwoman's  Son,  vol.  iii:  In  the  Red  Room. 


INTRODUCTION  vii 

the  whole  play  was  ready — mighty  in  bulk  and  spirit,  as 
became  the  true  firstling  of  a  young  Titan. 

Strindberg  had  first  meant  to  name  his  play  "What  Is 
Truth?"  For  a  while  he  did  call  it  "The  Renegade,"  but 
in  the  end  he  thought  both  titles  smacked  too  much  of 
tendency  and  decided  instead,  with  reasoned  convention- 
alism, to  use  the  title  of  Master  O /of  after  its  central  figure, 
the  Luther  of  Sweden. 

From  a  dramatic  point  of  view  it  would  have  been  hard  to 
pick  a  more  promising  period  than  the  one  he  had  chosen 
as  a  setting  for  his  play.  The  early  reign  of  Gustaf  Vasa, 
the  founder  of  modern  Sweden,  was  marked  by  three 
parallel  conflicts  of  equal  intensity  and  interest:  between 
Swedish  and  Danish  nationalism;  between  Catholicism 
and  Protestantism;  and,  finally,  between  feudalism  and 
a  monarchism  based  more  or  less  on  the  consent  of  the 
governed.  Its  background  was  the  long  struggle  for  in- 
dependent national  existence  in  which  the  country  had 
become  involved  by  its  voluntary  federation  with  Den- 
mark and  Norway  about  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  century. 
That  struggle — made  necessary  by  the  insistence  of  one 
sovereign  after  another  on  regarding  Sweden  as  a  Danish 
province  rather  than  as  an  autonomous  part  of  a  united 
Scandinavia — had  reached  a  sort  of  climax,  a  final  mo- 
ment of  utter  blackness  just  before  the  dawn,  when,  at 
Stockholm  in  1520,  the  Danish  king,  known  ever  after- 
ward as  Christian  the  Tyrant,  commanded  the  arbitrary 
execution  of  about  eighty  of  Sweden's  most  representative 
men. 

Until  within  a  few  months  of  that  event,  named  by  the 
horror-stricken  people  "the  blood-bath  of  Stockholm," 
the  young  Gustaf  Eriksson  Vasa  had  been  a  prisoner  in 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

Denmark,  sent  there  as  a  hostage  of  Swedish  loyalty.  Hav- 
ing obtained  his  freedom  by  flight,  he  made  his  way  to  the 
inland  province  of  Dalecarlia,  where  most  of  the  previous 
movements  on  behalf  of  national  liberty  had  originated, 
and  having  cleared  the  country  of  foreign  invaders,  chiefly 
by  the  help  of  an  aroused  peasantry  that  had  never  known 
the  yoke  of  serfdom, he  was.  elected  king  at  a  Riksdag  held 
in  the  little  city  of  Strangnas,  not  far  from  Stockholm,  in 

1523- 

Strangnas  was  a  cathedral  city  and  had  for  several  years 
previous  been  notorious  for  the  Lutheran  leanings  of  its 
clergy.  After  the  death  of  its  bishop  as  one  of  the  victims 
of  King  Christian,  its  temporary  head  had  been  the  arch- 
deacon, the  ambitious  and  learned  Lars  Andersson — or 
Laurentius  Andreae,  as,  in  accordance  with  the  Latin- 
izing tendency  of  the  time,  he  was  more  frequently  named. 
One  of  its  canons  was  Olof  Pedersson — also  known  as 
Olaus  Petri,  and  more  commonly  as  Master  Olof  (Mas- 
ter being  the  vernacular  for  Magister,  which  was  the  equiv- 
alent of  our  modern  Doctor) — who,  during  two  years 
spent  in  studies  at  the  University  of  Wittenberg,  had  been 
in  personal  contact  with  Luther,  and  who  had  become 
fired  with  an  aspiration  to  carry  the  Reformation  into  his 
native  country.  By  recent  historians  Master  Olof  has  been 
described  as  of  a  "naively  humble  nature,"  rather  melan- 
choly in  temperament,  but  endowed  with  a  gift  for  irony, 
and  capable  of  fiery  outbursts  when  deeply  stirred.  At 
Strangnas  he  had  been  preaching  the  new  faith  more  openly 
and  more  effectively  than  any  one  else,  and  he  had  found 
a  pupil  as  well  as  a  protector  in  the  temporary  head  of  the 
diocese. 

Immediately  after  his  election,  the  new  King  called  Lars 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

Andersson  from  Strangnas  to  become  his  first  chancellor. 
Later  on,  he  pressed  Olof,  too,  into  his  service,  making  him 
Secretary  to  the  City  Corporation  of  Stockholm  —  which 
meant  that  Olof  practically  became  the  chief  civil  admin- 
istrator of  the  capital,  having  to  act  as  both  clerk  and  magis- 
trate, while  at  the  same  time  he  was  continuing  his  re- 
formatory propaganda  as  one  of  the  preachers  in  the  city's 
principal  edifice,  officially  named  after  St.  Nicolaus,  but 
commonly  spoken  of  as  Greatchurch.  As  if  this  were  not 
sufficient  for  one  man,  he  plunged  also  into  a  feverish  liter- 
ary activity,  doing  most  of  the  work  on  the  Swedish  transla- 
tions of  the  New  and  Old  Testaments,  and  paving  the  way 
for  the  new  faith  by  a  series  of  vigorous  polemical  writings, 
the  style  of  which  proclaims  him  the  founder  of  modern 
Swedish  prose.  Centuries  passed  before  the  effective  sim- 
plicity and  homely  picturesqueness  of  his  style  were  sur- 
passed. He  became,  furthermore,  Sweden's  first  dramatist. 
The  Comedy  of  Tobit,  from  which  Strindberg  uses  a  few 
passages  in  slightly  modernized  form  at  the  beginning 
of  his  play,  is  now  generally  recognized  as  an  authentic 
product  of  Olofs  pen,  although  it  was  not  written  until 
a  much  later  period. 

Strindberg's  drama  starts  at  Strangnas,  at  the  very  mo- 
ment when  Olof  has  been  goaded  into  open  revolt  against 
the  abuses  of  the  Church,  and  when  he  is  saved  from  the 
consequences  of  that  revolt  only  by  the  unexpected  arrival 
of  King  Gustaf  and  his  own  appointment  as  City  Secre- 
tary. From  the  slightly  strained,  but  not  improbable,  coin- 
cidence of  that  start  to  the  striking  climax  of  the  last  act, 
the  play  follows,  on  the  whole,  pretty  closely  the  actual 
course  of  events  recorded  in  history.  To  understand  this 
course,  with  its  gradually  intensified  conflict  between  the 


x  INTRODUCTION 

King  and  Olof,  it  is  above  all  necessary  to  bear  in  mind 
that  the  former  regarded  the  Reformation  principally  as  a 
means  toward  that  political  reorganization  and  material  up- 
building of  the  country  which  formed  his  main  task;  while 
to  Olof  the  religious  reconstruction  assumed  supreme  im- 
portance. This  fundamental  divergence  of  purpose  is  clearly 
indicated  and  effectively  used  by  Strindberg,  and  we  have 
reason  to  believe  that  he  has  pictured  not  only  Gustaf 
Vasa  and  Master  Olof,  but  also  the  other  historical  char- 
acters, in  close  accordance  with  what  history  has  to  tell 
us  about  them.  Among  the  chief  figures  there  is  only  one 
—  Gert  the  Printer — who  is  not  known  to  history,  and 
one — the  wife  of  Olof — who  is  so  little  known  that  the 
playwright  has  been  at  liberty  to  create  it  almost  wholly 
out  of  his  own  imagination. 

At  the  juncture  represented  by  the  initial  scenes  of  the 
play,  Olof  was  in  reality  thirty-one  years  old,  but  he  is 
made  to  appear  still  younger.  The  King  should  be,  and  is, 
about  twenty-seven,  while  Lars  Andersson  is  about  fifty- 
four,  and  Bishop  Brask  about  seventy.  Gert  must  be  thought 
a  man  of  about  sixty,  while  Christine  must  be  about  twenty. 
The  action  of  the  play  lasts  from  1524  to  1540, but  Strind- 
berg has  contracted  the  general  perspective,  so  to  speak, 
giving  us  the  impression  that  the  entire  action  takes  place 
within  a  couple  of  years.  I  have  tried  to  work  out  a  com- 
plete chronology,  and  think  it  fairly  safe  to  date  the  sev- 
eral parts  of  the  play  as  follows : 

The  first  act  takes  place  on  Whitsun  Eve,  1524,  which 
means  that  the  exact  date  must  fall  between  May  10  and 
June  13  of  that  year,  and  probably  about  June  I. 

The  first  scene  of  the  second  act  occurs  in  the  early 
evening  of  a  Saturday  in  the  summer — probably  in  June 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

— of  1524.  The  second  scene  is  fixed  at  midnight  of  the 
same  day,  and  the  third  scene  on  the  following  morning, 
which,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  Olof  is  to  preach,  we  may 
assume  to  be  a  Sunday. 

The  first  scene  of  the  third  act  seems  to  take  place  four 
days  later,  but  Olof  was  not  married  until  February,  1525, 
— to  "Christine,  a  maiden  of  good  family," — and  it  was 
only  during  the  winter  of  1526-27  that  the  Church  re- 
formers were  given  free  rein  by  the  King,  and  Olof  him- 
self was  despatched  to  the  University  of  Upsala  for  the  pur- 
pose of  challenging  Peder  Galle,  the  noted  Catholic  theo- 
logian, to  a  joint  discussion.  This  was  also  the  time  when 
the  first  Swedish  version  of  the  New  Testament  was  com- 
pleted by  Olof  and  Lars  Andersson  —  an  event  referred  to 
in  the  scene  in  question. 

The  exact  date  of  the  second  scene  of  the  third  act  is 
St.  John's  Eve,  or  June  24,  15 27,  at  which  time  occurred 
the  important  Riksdag  at  Vesteras,  where  the  King  broke 
the  final  resistance  of  the  nobility  and  the  Catholic  clergy 
by  threatening  to  abdicate.  The  debate  between  Olof  and 
Peder  Galle  took  place  at  the  Riksdag,  Galle  having  evaded 
it  as  long  as  he  could. 

The  date  of  the  fourth  act  is  very  uncertain,  but  it  seems 
safe  to  place  it  in  the  summer  of  1539,  when  Stockholm 
was  ravaged  by  an  epidemic  of  a  virulent  disease  known  as 
"the  English  sweat." 

The  first  scene  of  the  fifth  act  is  laid  on  New  Year's 
Eve,  1539,  when  Olof  and  Lars  Andersson  were  arrested 
and  charged  with  high  treason  for  not  having  informed  the 
proper  authorities  of  a  plot  against  the  King's  life.  This 
plot  was  an  old  story,  having  been  exposed  and  punished 
in  1536.  Their  defence  was  that  they  had  learned  of  it 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

through  secret  confession,  which  they  as  ministers  had  no 
right  to  reveal.  The  trial  took  only  two  days,  and  on  Janu- 
ary 2,  1540,  both  were  sentenced  to  death. 

The  second  scene  of  the  final  act  must  be  laid  in  the 
spring  of  1540,  as  the  ceremony  of  confirmation  has  gen- 
erally taken  place  about  Easter  ever  since  the  Swedish 
church  became  Lutheran. 

While,  in  the  main,  Strindberg  made  the  events  of  his 
play  accord  with  what  was  accepted  as  historical  fact  when 
he  wrote,  there  are  anachronisms  and  inaccuracies  to  be 
noted,  although  to  none  of  them  can  be  attached  much 
importance.  When,  in  the  first  and  second  acts,  he  repre- 
sents the  Anabaptist  leaders,  Rink  and  Knipperdollink,  as 
then  in  Stockholm  and  actually  introduces  one  of  them 
on  the  stage,  he  has  merely  availed  himself  of  a  legend 
which  had  been  accepted  as  truth  for  centuries,  and  which 
has  been  exploded  only  by  recent  historical  research.  We 
know  now  that  Rink  and  Knipperdollink  could  never  have 
been  in  Sweden,  but  we  know  also  that  a  German  lay 
preacher  named  Melchior  Hofman  appeared  at  Stockholm 
about  the  time  indicated  in  the  play,  arid  that,  in  1529, 
another  such  preacher,  named  Tilemann,  made  Olof  him- 
self the  object  of  his  fierce  invectives.  These  instances 
serve,  in  fact,  to  prove  how  skilfully  Strindberg  handled 
his  historical  material.  He  is  never  rigid  as  to  fact,  but  as 
a  rule  he  is  accurate  in  spirit.  Another  instance  of  this 
kind  is  found  in  the  references  in  the  first  act  to  the  use 
of  Swedish  for  purposes  of  worship.  It  is  recorded — and 
by  himself,  I  think — that  Olof  once  asked  his  mother 
whether  she  really  understood  the  Latin  prayers,  since  she 
was  so  very  fond  of  them.  She  answered:  "No,  I  don't 
understand  them,  but  when  I  hear  them  I  pray  devoutly 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

to  God  that  they  may  please  Him,  which  I  don't  doubt 
they  do." 

On  the  other  hand,  what  may  be  regarded  as  rather  an 
awkward  slip  is  found  in  the  first  scene  of  the  fifth  act, 
where  Gert  cries  exultantly  to  Olof:  "You  don't  know 
that  Thomas  Miinster  has  established  a  new  spiritual  king- 
dom at  Miihlhausen."  The  name  of  the  great  Anabaptist 
"prophet"  was  Thomas  Miinzer,  and  the  place  where  he 
established  his  brief  reign  was  Miinster.  Strindberg's  habit 
was  to  fill  his  head  with  the  facts  to  be  used,  and  then 
to  rely  on  his  memory.  Marvellous  as  his  memory  was,  it 
sometimes  deceived  him,  and  checking  ofF  names  or  dates 
seems  to  have  been  utterly  beyond  him.  Thus  it  is  quite 
probable  that  the  passage  in  question  represents  an  un- 
conscious error.  At  the  same  time  it  is  barely  possible  that 
the  mistake  may  have  been  purposely  laid  in  the  mouth  of 
a  fanatic,  from  whom  exactness  of  statement  could  hardly 
be  expected.  Thus,  in  the  first  act,  Gert  remarks  that 
"Luther  is  dead."  We  understand,  of  course,  that  this 
expression  is  metaphorical,  signifying  that  Luther  has 
done  all  that  can  be  expected  of  him,  but  it  is  nevertheless 
characteristically  ambiguous. 

The  second  scene  of  the  third  act  is  apparently  laid  in 
OloPs  house  at  Stockholm,  although  the  location  of  the 
building  is  not  definitely  indicated.  We  find  him  waiting 
for  a  messenger  who  is  to  announce  the  results  of  the  Riks- 
dag then  in  session.  But  the  Riksdag  was  held  at  Vesteras, 
and  we  know  that  Olof  was  one  of  two  delegates  sent  by 
the  burghers  and  the  peasants  to  the  King,  whom  they 
implored  "on  their  knees  and  with  tears"  to  withdraw 
his  abdication.  The  Courtier's  reference  to  Olof's  debate 
with  Galle  renders  it  still  more  uncertain  whether  we  are 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

in  Stockholm  or  in  Vesteras.  The  Courtier  also  informs 
Olof  of  his  appointment  as  pastor  of  Greatchurch,  the 
facts  being  that  Olof  was  not  ordained  until  1539  and  re- 
ceived his  appointment  a  year  after  the  events  described 
in  the  last  act  of  the  play.  In  the  metrical  version,  Strind- 
berg  makes  his  most  radical  departure  from  the  historical 
course  of  events  by  letting  Luther's  marriage  precede  and 
influence  that  of  Olof,  although  in  reality  OloPs  antici- 
pated that  of  Luther  by  several  months. 

The  complaints  of  the  Man  from  Smaland  in  the  first 
scene  of  the  second  act  could  scarcely  have  been  war- 
ranted in  1524,  when  that  act  takes  place.  The  hold  of  the 
young  King  was  far  too  precarious  at  that  early  date  to 
permit  any  regulations  of  the  kind  referred  to.  The  estab- 
lishment of  a  maximum  price  on  oxen  does  not  seem  to 
have  occurred  until  1532,  and  a  prohibition  against  the 
shooting  of  deer  by  the  peasants  was  actually  issued  in 
1538,  both  measures  helping  to  provoke  the  widespread 
uprising  that  broke  out  in  Smaland  in  1541.  It  was 
narned  the  "Dacke  feud"  after  its  principal  leader,  the 
peasant-chieftain  Nils  Dacke,  to  whom  the  Sexton  refers 
in  the  second  scene  of  the  last  act — also  a  little  prema- 
turely. 

Whether  these  be  conscious  or  unconscious  anachro- 
nisms, they  matter  very  little  when  the  general  accuracy 
of  the  play  is  considered.  From  the  moment  the  Danes 
had  been  driven  out  of  the  country,  one  of  the  most  serious 
problems  confronting  the  King  was  the  financial  chaos 
into  which  the  country  had  fallen,  and  his  efforts,  first  of 
all  to  raise  enough  means  for  ordinary  administrative  pur- 
poses, and  secondly  to  reorganize  trade  and  agriculture, 
brought  him  almost  immediately  into  conflict  with  the 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

peasants,  who,  during  the  long  struggle  for  national  inde- 
pendence, had  become  accustomed  to  do  pretty  much  as 
they  pleased.  The  utterances  of  the  Man  from  Smaland 
are  typical  of  the  sentiments  that  prevailed  among  the  peas- 
ants throughout  the  country,  not  least  when  he  speaks 
of  the  King's  intention  to  "take  away  their  priests  and 
friars,"  for  the  majority  of  the  Swedish  people  were  at 
that  time  still  intensely  Catholic,  and  remained  so  to  a  large 
extent  long  after  the  Reformation  officially  had  placed 
Sweden  among  Protestant  countries. 

Much  more  serious  than  any  liberties  taken  with  dates 
or  facts,  I  deem  certain  linguistic  anachronisms,  of  which 
Strindberg  not  rarely  becomes  guilty.  Thus,  for  instance, 
he  makes  the  King  ask  Bishop  Brask:  "What  kind  of 
phenomenon  is  this? "The  phrase  is  palpably  out  of  place, 
and  yet  it  has  been  used  so  deliberately  that  nothing  was 
left  for  me  to  do  but  to  translate  it  literally.  The  truth  is 
that  Strindberg  was  not  striving  to  reproduce  the  actual 
language  of  the  period — a  language  of  which  we  get  a 
glimpse  in  the  quotations  from  The  Comedy  of  Tobit.  Here 
and  there  he  used  archaic  expressions  (which  I  have  some- 
times reproduced  and  sometimes  disregarded,  as  the  exi- 
gencies of  the  new  medium  happened  to  require).  At  other 
times  he  did  not  hesitate  to  employ  modern  colloquialisms 
(most  of  which  have  been  "toned  down").  He  did  not 
regard  local  color  or  historical  atmosphere  as  a  supreme 
desideratum.  He  wanted  to  express  certain  ideas,  and  he 
wanted  to  bring  home  the  essential  humanity  of  historical 
figures  which,  through  the  operations  of  legendary  history, 
had  assumed  a  strange,  unhuman  aspect.  The  methods  he 
employed  for  these  purposes  have  since  been  made  famil- 
iar to  the  English-speaking  public  by  the  historical  plays 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

of  Bernard  Shaw  and  the  short  stories  and  novels  of  Ana- 
tole  France. 

In  his  eagerness,  however,  to  express  what  was  burning 
for  utterance  in  his  own  breast,  the  second  purpose  was 
sometimes  lost  sight  of;  and  at  such  times  Strindberg  hesi- 
tated as  little  to  pass  the  bounds  imposed  by  an  historical 
period  as  to  break  through  the  much  more  important  limi- 
tations of  class  and  personal  antecedents.  Thus,  for  ex- 
ample, the  remarks  of  Olofs  mother  are  at  one  moment 
characterized  by  the  simplicity  to  be  expected  from  the 
aged  widow  of  a  small  city  tradesman  in  the  early  part  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  while  in  the  next  —  under  the  pres- 
sure of  the  author's  passion  for  personal  expression  —  they 
grow  improbably  sophisticated.  Yet  each  figure,  when  seen 
in  proper  perspective,  appears  correctly  drawn  and  strik- 
ingly consistent  with  the  part  assigned  to  it  in  the  play.  In 
his  very  indifference  to  minor  accuracies,  Strindberg  some- 
times approaches  more  closely  to  the  larger  truth  than  men 
more  scrupulous  in  regard  to  details.  How  true  he  can  be 
in  his  delineation  of  a  given  type  is  perhaps  best  shown  by 
the  figure  of  Gert.  The  world's  literature  holds  few  por- 
trayals of  the  anarchistic  temperament  that  can  vie  with  it 
in  psychological  exactness,  and  it  is  as  true  to-day  as  it  was 
in  1524  or  in  1872. 

This  verisimilitude  on  a  universal  rather  than  a  specific 
plane  assumes  still  greater  significance  if  we  consider  it 
in  the  light  of  what  Strindberg  has  told  us  about  his  pur- 
pose with  the  main  characters  of  his  first  great  play.  As 
I  have  already  said,  those  characters  were  meant  to  be 
both  mouthpieces  of  the  author  and  revived  historical  fig- 
ures, but  they  were  also  meant — and  primarily,  I  sus- 
pect—  to  be  something  else:  embodiments  of  the  contra- 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

dictory  phases  of  a  single  individual,  namely  the  author 
himself. 

"The  author  meant  to  hide  his  own  self  behind  the 
historical  characters,"  Strindberg  tells  us,  apropos  of  this 
very  play.*  "As  an  idealist  he  was  to  be  represented  by 
Olof;  as  a  realist  by  Gustaf;  and  as  a  communist  by 
Gert."  Farther  on  in  the  same  work,  he  continues  his  rev- 
elation as  follows:  "The  King  and  his  shadow, the  shrewd 
Constable,  represented  himself  [the  author]  as  he  wished 
to  be;  Gert,  as  he  was  in  moments  of  aroused  passion; 
and  Olof,  as,  after  years  of  self-scrutiny,  he  had  come  to 
know  himself:  ambitious  and  weak-willed;  unscrupulous 
when  something  was  at  stake, and  yielding  at  other  times; 
possessed  of  great  self-confidence,  mixed  with  a  deep  mel- 
ancholy; balanced  and  irrational;  hard  and  gentle." 

Finally,  he  gives  us  this  illuminating  exposition  of  his 
own  views  on  the  moral  validity  of  the  main  characters, 
thus  disposing  once  for  all  of  the  one-sided  interpretations 
made  by  persons  anxious  to  use  this  or  that  aspect  of  the 
play  in  support  of  their  own  political  or  social  idiosyncra- 
sies: "All  the  chief  characters  are,  relatively  speaking,  in 
the  right.  The  Constable,  from  the  standpoint  of  his  own 
day,  is  right  in  asking  Olof  to  keep  calm  and  go  on  preach- 
ing; Olof  is  right  in  admitting  that  he  had  gone  too  far; 
the  scholar,  Vilhelm,  is  right  when,  in  the  name  of  youth, 
he  demands  the  evolution  of  a  new  truth;  and  Gert  is  right 
in  calling  Olof  a  renegade.  The  individual  must  always 
become  a  renegade  —  forced  by  the  necessity  of  natural 
laws;  by  fatigue;  by  inability  to  develop  indefinitely,  as 
the  brain  ceases  to  grow  about  the  age  of  forty-five;  and 

*  In  one  of  his  biographical  novels,  The  Bondwoman  s  Son,  vol.  iii  :  In  the  Red 
Room. 


xx  INTRODUCTION 

So  he  set  about  to  re-write  it — and  he  did  so  not  only 
once  but  repeatedly,  producing  in  all  six  versions  that  dif- 
fer more  or  less  from  one  another.  At  first  he  clung  to  the 
prose  form.  Gradually  he  began  to  introduce  verse,  until 
finally,  in  1877  or  1878,  he  completed  an  almost  new  play, 
where  the  metrical  form  predominated  without  being  used 
exclusively.  This  version  was  actually  published  in  1878. 
Originally,  an  epilogue  was  appended  to  it,  but  this  was 
dropped  from  all  but  a  small  part  of  the  first  edition.  It  is 
supposed  to  take  place  a  number  of  years  later  than  the 
fifth  act,  and  shows  Olof  with  his  two  sons  outside  the 
city  walls  of  Stockholm,  where  they  witness  a  miracle-play 
introducing  God  as  the  principle  of  darkness  and  Lucifer 
as  the  overthrown  but  never  conquered  principle  of  light. 
The  bitter  generalizations  of  this  afterthought  explain  suf- 
ficiently why  it  was  excluded.  To  the  later  Strindberg — 
the  man  who  wrote  Advent,  for  instance — it  must  have 
seemed  one  of  his  most  unforgivable  offences. 

Although  Strindberg's  main  object  in  working  over  his 
play  undoubtedly  was  to  obtain  its  production,  the  metri- 
cal version  was  not  put  on  the  stage  until  1890,  when, 
however,  it  was  performed  at  the  Royal  Theatre,  toward 
which  its  author  had  looked  so  longingly  and  so  vainly 
eighteen  years  earlier.  The  prose  version,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  produced  as  early  as  1881,  at  the  New  Theatre 
in  Stockholm,  but  was  not  published  until  the  same  year, 
when  it  appeared  in  book  form  grouped  with  a  number  of 
other  writings  from  Strindberg's  earliest  period. 

Of  the  five  unprinted  versions  connecting  the  original 
prose  drama  of  1872  with  the  final  metrical  form  of  1878, 
more  or  less  complete  manuscripts  have  been  preserved, 
and  these  are  now  being  examined  in  detail  by  the  Swed- 


INTRODUCTION  xxi 

ish  literary  historian,  Professor  Karl  Warburg.  A  summary 
analysis  by  Dr.  John  Landquist  is  appended  to  the  second 
volume  of  the  definitive  edition  of  Strindberg's  complete 
works  (Albert  Bonnier,  Stockholm), where  the  epilogue  to 
the  metrical  version  is  also  reprinted  after  so  many  years 
of  oblivion. 

"Of  all  the  manuscripts  preceding  the  final  metrical 
version,"  says  Dr.  Landquist,  "the  original  one,  written 
when  Strindberg  was  twenty-three,  is  the  masterpiece. 
There  everything  is  consistent;  there  the  dialogue  has  a 
power  and  an  incisiveness  to  which  it  does  not  attain  in 
any  of  the  unprinted  manuscripts.  On  the  contrary,  these 
seem  more  youthful  than  the  original,  producing  at  times 
an  impression  of  immaturity  and  uncertainty  on  the  part 
of  the  author.  Even  when  some  isolated  phrase  strikes  one 
as  fortunate,  it  does  not  tend  to  strengthen  the  drama  as 
a  whole.  The  later  versions  lack  that  sense  of  inner  unity 
and  that  audacious  touch  which  lend  fascination  and  power 
to  the  original  manuscript. 

"Not  until  we  reach  the  first  metrical  version  (of  1876) 
does  the  full  power  of  the  playwright  begin  to  reassert  itself 
in  such  fashion  that  out  of  his  untiring  labors  at  last  springs 
a  new  work,  the  mood  of  which  differs  essentially  from 
that  of  the  first  prose  version.  These  two  versions — the 
first  and  the  final — are  the  results  of  diametrically  opposed 
methods  of  work.  The  first  was  written  with  a  certainty 
and  swiftness  of  inspiration  that  raised  the  young  poet  far 
above  the  productive  powers  generally  characteristic  of 
his  years.  The  subsequent  modifications  prove  merely  how 
futile  are  the  efforts  of  reason  to  improve  what  intuition 
has  inspired.  But  gradually  it  seems  to  have  dawned  on 
the  poet  that  he  was  about  to  evolve  a  wholly  new  work — 


xxii  INTRODUCTION 

that  what  he  had  come  to  aim  at  was  quite  distinct  from 
what  he  had  been  aiming  at  in  the  beginning,  and  from 
that  moment  his  artistic  reasoning  carried  him  onward 
until  at  last  a  new  inspiration  brought  the  work  to  its  com- 
pletion." 

Concerning  the  final  metrical  version,  I  can  give  only 
a  few  outstanding  and  rather  superficial  facts,  hoping  that 
I  may  some  time,  have  the  opportunity  of  presenting  it 
entire  to  the  American  public.  Like  the  prose  version,  it 
has  five  acts,  but  these  are  not  subdivided  into  scenes.  It 
is  briefer,  more  concentrated  both  in  spirit  and  in  form, 
and  may  be  said  to  display  a  greater  unity  of  purpose.  It  is 
more  human,  too,  and  less  titanic.  The  change  shows  itself 
strikingly  in  a  figure  like  that  of  Marten,  who  in  the  metri- 
cal version  has  become  softened  into  an  unconscionable 
but  rather  lovable  rapscallion.  The  last  remark  but  one 
made  by  Marten  when  driven  from  Dame  Christine's  death- 
bed by  Olof  is:  "Talk  to  your  mother,  son — the  two  of 
you  have  so  much  to  forgive  each  other." 

In  strength  and  passion  and  daring,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  final  version  falls  far  short  of  the  original  one,  and  the 
very  fact  that  it  is  more  logical,  more  carefully  reasoned, 
tends  at  times  to  render  it  less  psychologically  true.  Each 
version  has  its  own  merits  and  its  own  faults,  and  in  their 
appeal  they  are  so  radically  different  that  a  choice  between 
them  must  always  remain  meaningless  except  on  tem- 
peramental grounds.  At  one  point,  however — and  an  im- 
portant one  at  that — -the  metrical  version  seems  to  me 
the  happier  by  far. 

That  cry  of  "renegade,"  which,  echoing  from  the  dim 
recesses  of  the  church,  makes  the  prose  version  end  on  a 
note  of  perplexing  irony,  may  be  theatrically  effective,  but 


INTRODUCTION  xxiii 

it  can  hardly  be  called  logical.  Gert  has  been  disposed  of. 
His  sudden  return  out  of  the  clutches  of  the  soldiers  is 
inexplicable  and  unwarranted.  Worse  still,  he  has  only  a 
short  while  previous  been  urging  Olof  to  live  on  for  his 
work.  If  Olof  be  a  renegade,  he  is  so  upon  the  advice  of 
Gert  himself,  and  to  call  the  concession  made  by  Olof 
for  the  saving  of  his  own  life  far-reaching  enough  to  ex- 
plain Gert's  sudden  change  of  attitude  approaches  dan- 
gerously near  to  quibbling.  In  the  metrical  version,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  same  cry  of  "renegade"  is  quite  logically 
and  suitably  wrung  from  the  lips  of  Vilhelm,  the  scholar 
who  is  still  dreaming  of  uncompromised  ideals.  But  it  is  not 
the  final  word.  This  comes  from  Olof,  and  takes  the  form 
of  a  brief  apostrophe  to  the  fleeing  Vilhelm,  which  I  think 
ranks  with  the  finest  passages  produced  by  Strindberg. 
Apologetically,  I  offer  this  English  version  of  it  as  a  fitting 
close  to  my  Introduction: 

Olof.  Oh,  what  a  word  !  But  though  it  shook  the  air, 
These  columns  did  not  stir,  nor  fell  the  dome, 
And  I  stand  calm  upon  this  lonely  shore, 
Where  I  was  dropped  by  the  receding  waves  — 
For,  after  all,  I  am  ashore.  And  now 
A  last  "good  luck  upon  the  road"  I  send 
To  speed  the  daring  sailor  who  will  give 
No  ear  to  one  that  just  has  come  to  grief. 
With  sails  hauled  close,  steer  for  the  open  sea 
And  for  the  far-off  goal  your  soul  desires ! 
Ere  long  you  must  fall  off  like  all  the  rest, 
Although  a  star  your  guiding  landmark  be : 
For  in  due  time  the  stars  themselves  must  fall! 

EDWIN  BJORKMAN 
May  15,  1915 


MASTER  OLOF 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

OLOF  PEDERSSON  (Olaus  Petri),  generally  known  as  MASTER 

OLOF. 

GERT  THE  PRINTER. 

GUSTAF  ERIKSSON  VASA,  King  of  Sweden. 
HANS  BRASK,  Bishop  of  Linkbping. 
MANS  SOMMAR,  Bishop  ofStrdngnds. 
LARS  SIGGESON,  Lord  High  Constable. 

LARS  ANDERSSON  (Laurentius  Andrea?) ,  Lord  High  Chancellor. 
LARS  PEDERSSON  (Laurentius  Petri),  brother  of  Master  Olof. 
HANS  WINDRANK,  a  Master  Mariner. 
A  Man  from  Sm aland. 
A  German. 
A  Dane. 

MARTEN")  D/    ,  r  . 

\Black  Friars. 
NILS       J 

A  Tavern-keeper. 

A  Burier. 

First  Scholar. 

Second  Scholar. 

The  Sexton  at  St.  Nicolaus  (or  Create hurch). 

A  Servant  of  the  Palace. 

An  Overseer. 

A  Townsman. 

A  Courtier. 

DAME  CHRISTINE,  Olof's  mother. 

CHRISTINE,  daughter  of  Gert  the  Printer. 

A  Harlot. 

A  Woman. 

The  Sexton's  Wife. 

The  Abbess  of  St.  Clara. 

Headsman,  Townsfolk,  Laborers,  etc. 

ACT  I :  At  Strdngnds. 
ACTS  II,  III,  IV,  AND  V :  At  Stockholm. 


ACT  I 

A  Cloister  opening  upon  a  Convent  Close  planted  with  groups 
of  trees.  The  convent  church  forms  the  right  side  of  the  quad- 
rangle. A  brick  wall  runs  along  the  rear.  Fruit  trees  in  blos- 
som appear  above  the  wall.  Olof  is  seated  on  a  stone  bench. 
Before  him  stand  two  scholars,  who  are  reading  their  respec- 
tive parts  out  of"  The  Comedy  of  Tobit." 

First  Scholar. 

Now  have  our  enemies  trapped  us  full  well. 
Woe  unto  us,  poor  children  of  Israel ! 

Second  Scholar. 

Yea,  brother,  good  cause  you  have  to  make  such  plaint! 
Now  certes  we  have  come  upon  days  of  great  lament — 
Our  land  is  taken  away,  and  so  's  our  increase, 
And  ne'er  we  may  look  for  any  help  or  surcease. 
It  must  be,  as  long  I  have  both  dreamt  and  said, 
That  the  promise  to  Abram  has  been  long  mislaid. 
Enter  Lars  Anders  son. 

Lars  Andersson.  What  are  you  doing? 

Olof.  I  am  playing. 

Lars.  Playing — you? 

Olof.  I  am  playing  a  little  comedy  about  the  children 
of  Israel  and  the  Babylonian  captivity. 

Lars.  Have  you  nothing  better  to  do?  Bigger  work  is 
waiting  for  you. 

Olof.  I  am  too  young. 

Lars.  Do  not  say  you  are  too  young. 

Olof.  No,  for  there  are  plenty  of  others  who  say  it. 

Lars  (takes  out  a  roll  of  paper,  which  he  opens',  for  a  while 
he  stands  looking  at  Olof;  then  he  begins  to  read).  "Then  the 


4  MASTER  OLOF 

word  of  the  Lord  came  unto  Jeremiah :  c  Before  I  formed 
thee  in  the  belly  I  knew  thee;  and  before  thou  earnest  forth 
out  of  the  womb  I  sanctified  thee,  and  I  ordained  thee  a 
prophet  unto  the  nations.' 

"Then  said  Jeremiah:  cAh,  Lord  God!  behold,  I  can- 
not speak,  for  I  am  a  child.' 

"But  the  Lord  said:  'Say  not,  I  am  a  child;  for  thou 
shalt  go  to  all  that  I  shall  send  thee,  and  whatsoever  I  com- 
mand thee  thou  shalt  speak.  For,  behold,  I  have  made  thee 
this  day  a  defenced  city,  and  an  iron  pillar,  and  brazen 
walls  against  the  whole  land,  against  the  kings  of  Judah, 
against  the  princes  thereof,  against  the  priests  thereof,  and 
against  the  people  of  the  land.  And  they  shall  fight  against 
thee;  but  they  shall  not  prevail  against  thee;  for  I  am  with 
thee,'  saith  the  Lord,  cto  deliver  thee.' " 

Olof  (leaping  to  his  feet).  Did  the  Lord  say  that? 

Lars.  "Thou  therefore  gird  up  thy  loins  and  arise,  and 
speak  unto  them  all  that  I  command  thee." 

Olof.  Why  do  not  you  go? 

Lars.  I  am  too  old. 

Olof.  You  are  afraid! 

Lars.  I  am,  for  I  have  not  the  strength;  but  you  have — 
and  now  may  the  Lord  give  you  the  faith  also. 

Olof.  Oh,  once  I  did  have  the  flame  of  faith,  and  it 
burned  wondrously,  but  the  monkish  gang  smothered  it 
with  their  holy  water  when  they  were  trying  to  read  the 
devil  out  of  my  body. 

Lars.  That  was  a  fire  of  straw  which  had  to  flicker  out; 
but  now  the  Lord  will  light  you  a  fire  of  logs  by  which 
the  offspring  of  the  Philistines  shall  be  consumed.  Do  you 
know  your  own  will,  Olof? 

Olof.  No,  but  I  feel  myself  choking  when  I  think  of 


ACT  FIRST  5 

these  poor  people  who  yearn  for  salvation.  They  are  cry- 
ing for  water  —  for  living  water — but  there  is  no  one  who 
can  give  it  to  them. 

Lars.  Tear  down  the  crumbling  old  house  first,  you  can 
do  that.  Then  the  Lord  Himself  will  build  them  a  new  one. 

Olof.  Then  they  will  be  without  a  roof  over  their  heads 
for  a  time. 

Lars.  They  will  at  least  get  fresh  air. 

Olof.  But  to  rob  a  whole  nation  of  its  faith — they  will 
despair. 

Lars.  Yes,  they  will  despair. 

Olof.  But  they  will  decry  me,  and  revile  me,  and  drag 
me  before  the  elders. 

Lars.  Are  you  afraid? 

Olof.  No — but  the  offence — 

Lars.  You  were  born  to  give  offence,  Olof;  you  were 
born  to  smite.  The  Lord  will  heal. 

Olof.  I  can  feel  the  pull  of  the  current;  I  am  still  cling- 
ing to  the  sluice-gate,  but  if  I  let  go,  I  shall  be  swept  away. 

Lars.  Let  go!  There  are  more  than  enough  who  hold 
back. 

Olof.  Reach  out  your  hand  to  me,  Lars,  if  I  get  too  far 
into  the  whirlpool. 

Lars.  That  is  not  in  my  power,  and  into  the  whirlpool 
you  must  go,  even  if  it  be  to  perish. 

Olof.  What  storms  you  have  raised  in  my  soul !  A  mo- 
ment ago  I  sat  here  and  played  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees, 
and  it  was  Whitsun  Eve,  and  it  was  spring,  and  all  was 
peace.  And  now — how  can  the  trees  be  still,  and  why  is 
there  no  darkness  in  the  sky?  Put  your  hand  on  my  fore- 
head, feel  the  blood  surging!  Do  not  abandon  me,  Lars! 
I  see  an  angel  coming  towards  me  with  a  cup  —  she  is  walk- 


6  MASTER  OLOF 

ing  across  the  evening  sky — her  path  is  blood-red,  and  in 
her  hand  she  is  carrying  a  cross — No,  it  is  more  than  I 
avail!  I  will  return  to  my  peaceful  valley.  Let  others  fight; 
I  will  look  on  —  No,  I  will  follow  in  their  wake  and  heal 
the  wounded  and  whisper  words  of  peace  into  the  ears  of 
the  dying — Peace!  —  No,  I  want  to  fight  with  the  rest, 
but  in  the  last  ranks  —  Why  should  I  lead? 

Lars.  Because  you  are  the  boldest. 

Olof.  Not  the  strongest? 

Lars.  The  strong  will  come  after  you :  and  the  strong- 
est of  all  is  by  your  side;  it  is  He  who  summons  you  to 
battle. 

Olof.  Help  me,  O  Lord!  I  go. 

Lars.  Amen! 

Olof.  And  will  you  come  with  me? 

Lars.  You  must  go  alone — with  God! 

Olof.  Why  do  you  turn  back? 

Lars.  I  was  not  born  to  be  a  warrior:  your  armorer  is 
all  that  I  can  be.  Your  weapon  is  the  pure  Word  of  God, 
and  with  that  you  must  arm  the  people.  For  the  doors  to 
the  popish  armory  have  been  broken  open  at  last,  and  here- 
after every  one  calling  himself  a  man  must  fight  for  the 
freedom  of  his  own  spirit. 

Olof.  But  where  is  the  enemy?  I  am  burning  for  battle, 
yet  see  no  one  to  fight  against. 

Lars.  No  need  to  summon  them;  they  will  come!  Fare- 
well! You  may  begin  whenever  you  are  ready,  and  may 
God  be  with  you! 

Olof.  Don't  go.  I  have  much  more  to  talk  with  you 
about. 

Lars.  Here  comes  the  vanguard  now — to  arms! 

[Exit  Lars. 


ACT  FIRST  7 

(y/  crowd  of  townsmen  with  their  women  and  children  pass 
across  the  stage  to  the  church  door  at  the  right.  They  stop  in  front 
of  it,  bare  their  heads,  and  make  the  sign  of  the  cross.) 

Gert  the  Printer  (disguised as  a  townsman).  It's  Whitsun 
Eve,  and  nobody  has  rung  the  vesper  bell — that's  very 
strange. 

A  Townsman.  The  church  door  is  closed.  Maybe  the 
priest  is  sick. 

Gert.  Or  not  yet  out  of  bed. 

Townsman.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Gert.  Only  that  he  might  be  sick  abed. 

Townsman.  But  there  are  a  lot  of  acolytes,  and  one  of 
them  might  be  saying  a  mass  for  us  in  his  place. 

Gert.  They  are  probably  too  busy. 

Townsman.  With  what? 

Gert.  That 's  hard  to  tell. 

Townsman.  Take  care,  my  good  man !  You  seem  to  have 
a  leaning  towards  Lutherism.  Bishop  Hans  of  Linkoping 
is  here,  and  so's  the  King. 

Gert.  Is  Brask  in  town? 

Townsman.  Indeed  he  is.  But  I  suppose  we  had  better 
try  the  church  door  to  see  if  it  be  really  closed. 

Gert  (runs  up  the  steps  and  beats  the  church  door  with  his 
fist).  The  house  of  God  is  closed  this  Whitsun  Eve.  The  rev- 
erend clergy  will  grant  no  audience  with  the  Lord  to-day, 
and  so  the  worshipful  commonalty  will  have  to  go  home 
and  go  to  bed  without  any  mass.  Look  here,  good  folk !  Here 
you  have  a  door — mere  wood,  of  course,  but  that  matters 
little,  as  it  is  lined  with  copper.  Just  take  a  look  at  this 
door!  If  I  say  that  the  Lord  is  living  within — this  being 
His  house;  and  if  I  say  that  the  bishop's  diaconus,  or  secre- 
tarius,  or  canonicus,  or  some  other  fellow  ending  in  us — for 


8  MASTER  OLOF 

it's  only  these  clerical  gentlemen  that  end  in  us;  and  if 
I  say  that  some  fellow  of  that  kind  has  the  key  hanging 
on  a  nail  in  his  bedroom :  then  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  he 
has  locked  up  the  Lord  and  put  the  key  on  a  nail  in  his 
bedroom — but  all  I  mean  to  say  is  that  we  can't  get  in, 
and  that  there  will  be  no  divine  service  for  us  to-night — 
for  us  who  have  toiled  six  days  making  shoes  and  coats  — 
who  have  spent  the  whole  week  brewing  and  baking  and 
butchering  for  the  reverend  clergy  in  order  that  the  said 
clergy  might  have  strength  enough  on  the  seventh  day 
to  celebrate  divine  service  for  us.  Of  course,  I  am  not  at 
all  saying  this  in  reproach  of  the  right  reverend  mem- 
bers of  this  Chapter;  for  they,  too,  are  nothing  but  human 
beings,  you  know,  and  it  was  only  the  Lord  who  could 
stand  working  six  days  and  be  satisfied  with  resting  on  the 
seventh. 

Townsman.  You're  blaspheming  God,  master  towns- 
man! 

Gert.  Well,  He  can't  hear  it  when  the  door  is  closed. 

A  Woman.  Jesu  Maria !  He  's  an  Antichrist ! 

Gert  (beating  at  the  door).  Do  you  hear  how  hollow  it 
sounds?  —  It  is  writ  in  the  Bible  that  once  upon  a  time  the 
veil  before  the  Holiest  of  Holies  was  rent  in  twain,  and  it 
must  be  true — but  nothing  is  said  in  the  Bible  about  the 
clerical  gentlemen  having  sewed  the  veil  together  again, 
which,  of  course, is  no  reason  why  it  shouldn't  have  been 
done. 
(The  crowd  makes  a  rush  at  Gert ;  the  children  begin  to  cry. ,) 

Townsman.  Out  on  you,  Luther!  For  that's  what  you  are. 
We  have  sinned,  and  for  that  reason  the  Lord  has  closed 
His  house.  Can't  you  hear  that  the  very  children  cry  out 
at  the  sight  of  you,  unclean  spirit  that  you  are? 


ACT  FIRST  9 

Gert.  Naturally,  when  you  step  on  their  toes,  my  dear 
friends  — 

Woman.  Don't  go  near  him !  He  has  a  devil ! 

Townsman.  Down  with  him!  Down  with  him! 

Gert.  Don't  touch  me,  for  here  I  am  under  the  protec- 
tion of  the  Lord. 

Townsman.  The  Lord  will  not  protect  the  angel  that  was 
cast  out. 

Gert.  If  the  Lord  won't,  the  Holy  Church  will,  and  I 
am  now  within  her  consecrated  walls. 

Townsman.  Get  him  away  from  the  church  wall! 

Gert.  If  you  don't  fear  God,  you  must  at  least  fear  the 
ban  of  the  Holy  Father. 

Woman.  Drag  him  away  from  that  door!  It  is  his  un- 
clean spirit  that  has  cast  a  spell  on  the  church. 

Townsman.  That's  it !  The  Lord  won't  open  His  church 
to  the  Devil. 

(The  crowd  is  rushing  at  Gert  again,  when  the  Bishop's  Secre- 
tary enters,  preceded  by  a  verger,  who  calls  upon  the  people  to 
attend.} 

Secretary  (reading).  "Whereas  our  cathedral  city  has 
failed  in  the  payment  of  its  tithes  to  this  See,  and  whereas 
it  continues  refractory  in  regard  to  such  payments,  the 
Chapter  has  deemed  it  necessary,  in  accordance  with  its 
vested  rights  and  the  sanction  granted  by  the  Holy  Curia, 
to  close  the  doors  of  the  church  and  to  discontinue  all 
masses  and  sacrifices  until  the  aforesaid  dereliction  shall 
have  been  duly  remedied;  failure  to  observe  which  shall 
be  at  the  risk  of  our  displeasure.  Datum  vigilia  assump- 
tionis  Mariae.  Chapter  of  Strangnas."  [Exit. 

Gert.  What  do  you  say  to  that,  good  folk  ? 

Townsman.  No  mass  on  Whitsun  Eve? That 's  a  shame! 


io  MASTER  OLOF 

Gert.  Take  care  !  Say  nothing  evil  of  the  priests;  maybe 
they  're  not  to  blame. 

Townsman.  Who  is  to  blame,  then  ? 

Gert.  The  Church !  That  invisible  and  omnipotent  some- 
thing! It  is  the  Church,  you  see,  that  has  closed  the  church. 
(The  crowd  gives  evidence  of  disapproval.} 

Olof  (who  in  the  meantime  has  come  forward,  seizes  a  rope 
hanging  from  the  bell  tower,  and  begins  to  ring  vespers).  If 
your  worship  be  seriously  meant,  I  '11  say  mass  for  you. 

Townsman.  Many  thanks,  Master  Olof,  but  are  you 
aware  of  what  that  may  lead  to  ? 

Olof.  Let  us  fear  the  Lord  more  than  men!  (The  crowd 
kneels.}  Dear  friends !  Brothers  and  sisters  in  Christ  Jesus ! 
As  we  are  now  come  together  here — 

Townsman.  Master  Olof — 

Olof.  What  is  it? 

Townsman.  \Ve  want  a  real  mass,  and  not  any  new 
inventions  of  men. 

Gert.  It  has  to  be  in  Latin,  my  dear  Master  Olof,  or  we 
can't  understand  what  you  say. 

Townsman.  It  has  to  be  in  the  sacred  tongue — or  any- 
body might  say  mass. 

Olof.  And  so  you  shall !  Everyone  for  himself,  with  God ! 

Crowd.  A  Luther!  A  Luther!  Antichrist! 

Townsman.  Well,  well,  Master  Olof,  have  you,  too,  so 
young  and  zealous,  become  tainted  by  the  German  devil? 
I  am  an  old  man,  who  has  seen  much  of  the  world,  and  I 
mean  well  by  you — Turn  back  while  you  are  still  young! 
—  Do  as  we  ask  you  and  give  us  the  old  mass. 

Olof.  No,  there  must  be  an  end  to  that  mummery.  Ye 
shall  pray  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  and  not  in  words  ye  do  not 
understand. 


ACT  FIRST  ii 

Townsman.  Don't  you  think,  my  young  friend,  that  the 
Lord  understands  Latin  ? 

Gert.  But  Swedish  He  does  n't  understand  at  all ! 

Townsman.  Master  Olof,  are  you  going  to  let  the  people 
depart  from  you  without  a  word  to  edify  them?  Can't  you 
see  how  they  are  yearning  for  their  God  ?  Make  a  sacrifice 
of  your  own  sinful  will,  and  don't  let  the  people  go  from 
you  like  sheep  that  have  no  shepherd. 

Olof.  You  call  my  will  sinful? 

Townsman.  You  are  a  hard  man ! 

Olof.  Say  not  so !  Do  you  know  what  the  ringing  of  this 
bell  will  cost  me? 

Townsman.  Your  vanity. 

Gert.  And  your  peace !  For  it  was  the  alarum  bell  that 
rang  in  the  battle.  Hey -ho,  this  is  the  start !  Soon  the  bells 
of  Stockholm  will  respond,  and  then  the  blood  of  Hus,  and 
of  Ziska,  and  of  all  the  thousands  of  peasants  will  be  on 
the  heads  of  the  princes  and  the  papists. 

Woman.  Woe  unto  us!  What  is  he  raving  about? 

Townsman.  Do  you  know  this  man,  Master  Olof? 

Olof.  No. 

Gert.  Yes,  Olof,  you  know  me.  Deny  me  not !  Are  you 
afraid  of  these  miserable  creatures  who  do  not  want  their  own 
welfare — and  who  have  never  heard  the  word  "  freedom"  ? 

Olof.  What  is  your  name? 

Gert.  If  I  told,  you  would  all  tremble.  Yet  you  must 
tremble  in  order  that  you  may  wake  out  of  your  sleep.  I 
am  named  the  angel  that  was  cast  out  and  that  is  to  come 
again  ten  thousand  times;  I  am  named  the  liberator  that 
came  too  early;  I  am  named  Satan  because  I  love  you  more 
than  my  own  life;  I  have  been  named  Luther;  I  have  been 
named  Hus.  Now  I  am  named  Anabaptist! 


12  MASTER  OLOF 

Crowd  (shrink  back  and  begin  to  cross  themselves).  Ana- 
baptist ! 

Gert  (removing  his  disguise  and  revealing  himself  as  much 
older  than  he  had  seemed).  Do  you  know  me  now,  Olof? 

Olof.  Father  Gert! 

Townsman.  He  calls  him  father! 

Crowd  (drawing  back  from  Olof  and  Gert).  Anabaptist! 
Anabaptist! 

Woman.  Don't  you  see,  it 's  he  who  was  put  under  the 
ban  — 

Townsman.  Gert  the  Printer — the  bishop's  printer — 

Another  Townsman.  The  man  who  printed  Luther! 

Woman.  Woe  unto  us  and  to  our  city !  Woe  to  our  priests 
when  they  bear  company  with  Antichrist! 

Townsman.  He  denies  the  holy  baptism ! 

Woman.  He  denies  God.  (The  crowd  disperses.) 

Olof.  That  was  dangerous  talk,  Father  Gert. 

Gert.  You  really  think  it  was  dangerous,  Olof?  Bless 
you  for  those  words! 

Olof.  Dangerous  for  you,  I  mean. 

Gert.  Not  for  any  one  else? 

Olof.  Let  us  hope  not. 

Gert.  You  have  known  Luther? 

Olof.  Indeed,  I  have !  And  now  I  want  to  carry  out  his 
work  in  my  own  country. 

Gert.  Is  that  all  ? 

Olof.  What  do  you  mean? 

Gert.  It  is  not  enough!  Luther  is  dead.  He  made  a  be- 
ginning, we  have  to  go  on. 

Olof.  Whither  do  you  want  to  lead  me? 

Gert.  Far,  Olof,  very  far ! 

Olof.  I  am  afraid  of  you,  Father  Gert. 


ACT  FIRST  13 

Gert.  Yes,  and  will  be  more  so;  for  I  shall  take  you  up 
on  a  high  mountain,  and  from  there  you  shall  overlook 
the  whole  world.  You  see,  Olof,  it  is  now  Whitsuntide; 
it  was  at  this  time  the  Holy  Ghost  came  down  and  filled 
the  Apostles  —  nay,  all  humanity.  The  spirit  of  the  Lord 
has  descended  upon  me.  I  feel  it,  and  for  that  reason  they 
shut  me  up  like  one  demented.  But  now  I  am  free  again, 
and  now  I  shall  speak  the  word;  for  now,  Olof,  we  are 
standing  on  the  mountain.  Behold  the  people  crawling  on 
their  knees  before  those  two  men  seated  on  their  thrones. 
The  taller  holds  two  keys  in  one  hand  and  a  thunderbolt 
in  the  other.  That  is  the  Pope.  Now  he  hurls  his  thun- 
derbolt, and  a  thousand  souls  pass  into  perdition,  while 
the  rest  kiss  his  foot  and  sing  Gloria  Deo — but  he  who  is 
seated  on  the  throne  turns  about  and  smiles.  Now  behold 
his  companion.  He  has  a  sword  and  a  sceptre.  Bow  down 
before  the  sceptre,  lest  the  sword  smite  you.  When  he 
knits  his  brows  all  the  people  tremble.  He  turns  toward 
the  man  on  the  other  throne,  and  both  smile.  They  are 
two  pillars  of  Baal.  Then  is  heard  a  sound  out  of  heaven  as 
of  a  host  muttering.  "Who  is  grumbling?"  exclaims  the 
Pope,  shaking  his  thunderbolt.  "Who  is  muttering?"  — 
and  the  Emperor  shakes  his  sword.  Nobody  answers,  but 
still  there  is  grumbling  in  the  air,  and  roaring,  and  a  cry 
of  "Think!"  The  Pope  cowers,  and  the  Emperor,  turn- 
ing pale,  demands:  "Who  was  it  that  cried  'Think'?  Bring 
him  here,  and  I  will  take  his  life!"  The  Pope  shouts: 
"Bring  him  here,  and  I  will  take  his  soul!" The  cry  came 
out  of  heaven,  and  was  uttered  by  no  one.  But  still  the 
sound  of  it  rises;  a  storm  wind  springs  up;  it  sweeps  over 
the  Alps  and  goes  roaring  across  Fichtelgebirge;  it  stirs 
up  the  Baltic  and  echoes  from  the  shores,  and  the  cry  is 


14  MASTER  OLOF 

repeated  a  thousand  times  all  over  the  world:  "Freedom, 
freedom !  "  The  Pope  throws  his  keys  into  the  sea,  and  the 
Emperor  sheathes  his  sword,  for  against  that  cry  they  avail 
nothing.  —  Oh,  Olof,  you  wish  to  smite  the  Pope,  but 
you  forget  the  Emperor — the  Emperor,  who  is  killing  his 
people  without  counting  them  because  they  dare  to  sigh 
when  he  tramples  on  their  chests.  You  want  to  smite  the 
Pope  at  Rome,  but,  like  Luther,  you  want  to  give  them 
a  new  pope  in  Holy  Writ.  Listen !  Listen !  Bind  not  the 
spirits  with  any  fetters  whatsoever!  Forget  not  the  great 
Whitsunday !  Forget  not  your  great  goal :  spiritual  life  and 
spiritual  freedom!  Listen  not  to  the  cry  of  death:  "And 
behold,  it  is  all  good! "  For  then  the  millennium,  the  king- 
dom of  liberty,  will  never  arrive — and  it  is  that  which  is 
now  beginning.  ( Olof  remains  silent.}  Does  it  make  you 
dizzy  ? 

Olof.  You  go  too  far,  Gert. 

Gert.  The  day  shall  come  when  they  will  call  me  papist. 
Aim  at  the  sky,  and  you  will  hit  the  forest  line  ahead  of 
you. 

Olof.  Turn  back,  Gert !  You  '11  bring  disaster  on  your- 
self and  on  the  realm.  Can't  you  see  how  the  country  is 
still  shivering  with  the  wound-fever  caused  by  the  last 
war?  And  you  wish  to  sow  the  seeds  of  civil  war.  It  is  a 
godless  deed! 

Gert.  No,  the  knife  is  in  the  flesh  now.  Cut  away,  and 
the  body  may  be  saved. 

Olof.  I'll  denounce  you  as  a  traitor  to  your  country. 

Gert.  You  had  better  not,  seeing  that  to-day  you  have 
offended  the  Church  beyond  repair.  Besides  — 

Olof.  Speak  out,  Gert.  Just  now  you  look  like  Satan 
himself! 


ACT  FIRST  15 

Gert.  You  shall  have  my  secret :  deal  with  it  to  suit  your- 
self. The  King  leaves  for  Malmo  to-day,  and  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  perchance,  Stockholm  may  be  in  open  revolt. 

Olof.  What  are  you  talking  about? 

Gert.  Do  you  know  Rink  and  Knipperdollink? 

Olof  (alarmed).  The  Anabaptists! 

Gert.  Yes.  What's  so  startling  in  that?  They  are  noth- 
ing but  a  couple  of  lubberly  tradesmen.  A  furrier  and  a 
grocer,  who  deny  the  use  of  baptizing  unconscious  chil- 
dren, and  who  are  simple-minded  enough  to  oppose  the 
forcing  of  irrational  creatures  into  deliberate  perjury. 

Olof.  That  is  not  all. 

Gert.  What  is  it,  then  ? 

Olof.  They  are  possessed. 

Gert.  Of  the  spirit,  yes.  It  is  the  storm  wind  that  is  cry- 
ing through  them.  Beware,  if  you  get  into  its  path ! 

Olof.  This  must  be  stopped.  I  am  going  to  the  King. 

Gert.  We  should  be  friends,  Olof.  Your  mother  is  liv- 
ing in  Stockholm,  isn't  she? 

Olof.  You  know  it,  then? 

Gert.  Do  you  know  that  my  daughter  Christine  is  with 
your  mother? 

Olof.  Christine? 

Gert.  Yes,  for  the  present.  If  we  win,  your  mother  will 
be  protected  for  my  daughter's  sake;  and  if  the  Catho- 
lics win,  my  daughter  will  be  protected  for  your  mother's 
sake.  You  are  a  little  concerned  about  Christine,  are  you 
not? 

Olof.  Gert,  Gert,  what  made  you  so  wise  ? 

Gert.  The  madhouse. 

Olof.  Go  away  from  me !  You  '11  lead  me  into  disaster. 

Gert.  Yes,  if  you  call  it  a  disaster  to  be  robbed  of  all 


1 6  MASTER  OLOF 

earthly  happiness,  to  be  dragged  into  prison,  to  suffer  pov- 
erty, to  be  scorned  and  reviled  for  the  sake  of  truth.  If  so, 
you  are  not  worthy  of  such  a  splendid  disaster.  I  thought 
you  would  understand  me,  I  counted  on  your  help,  for  in 
you  the  fire  is  still  burning,  but  I  see  that  the  world  is 
tempting  you.  Well,  follow  the  stream  and  be  happy ! 

Olof.  How  could  a  man  make  over  the  age  in  which  he 
is  living? 

Gert.  That 's  what  Luther  has  done. 

Olof.  How  can  one  man  check  a  stream? 

Gert.  Guide  it,  you  fool — for  we  are  the  stream.  The 
old  are  stagnant  mudpools,  you  don't  need  to  check  them, 
but  don't  let  them  rot  away  or  dry  up;  give  them  an  out- 
let, and  they  '11  flow  with  the  stream,  too. 

Olof.  Yes,  I  understand  you !  You  have  bred  a  thought 
in  my  soul,  but  that  thought  must  be  strangled  in  its  birth, 
or  it  will  kill  me. 

Gert.  Believe  me,  you  will  be  a  Daniel,  and  you  will 
speak  the  truth  unto  princes,  and  they  will  conspire  to 
take  your  life;  but  the  Lord  will  protect  you.  —  Now  I  can 
safely  leave,  for  I  see  lightnings  flash  from  your  eyes  and 
tongues  of  fire  flickering  over  your  head.  (As  he  is  leaving.} 
There  comes  the  Lord  of  Flies :  don't  let  him  defile  your 
pure  soul  also. 

Olof.  Jesus  help  me  ! 

Enter  Bishop  Brask  and  Bishop  Sommar.  Sommar  approaches 
)  while  Brask  remains  behind,  studying  the  surroundings. 

Sommar.  Who  rang  vespers,  Canonicus  ? 

Olof  (calmly  but  firmly).  I  did. 

Sommar.  Didn't  you  know  the  order? 

Olof.  I  was  aware  of  the  prohibition. 


ACT  FIRST  17 

Sommar.  And  you  dared  to  defy  it  ? 

Olof.  Yes,  when  the  people  were  let  go  like  sheep  with- 
out a  shepherd,  I  wanted  to  keep  them  together. 

Sommar.  You  seem  to  be  finding  fault  with  our  actions. 
That 's  impudence  indeed. 

Olof.  Truth  is  always  impudent. 

Sommar.  I  believe,  young  man,  that  you  want  to  play 
the  part  of  an  apostle  of  truth.  It  will  bring  you  no  thanks. 

Olof.  All  I  ask  is  ingratitude. 

Sommar.  Save  your  truths.  They  don't  retain  their  value 
in  the  market  very  long. 

Olof  (impetuously}.  That's  advice  worthy  of  the  Father 
of  Lies!  —  (Mildly.}  I  ask  your  pardon! 

Sommar.  Do  you  know  to  whom  you  are  talking? 

Olof  (heatedly).  To  servus  servi  servorum  Mans  Sommar! 

Brask  (stepping forward}.  Who  is  this  man? 

Sommar.  One  of  the  attendants  in  the  church. 

Brask.  What's  his  name? 

Sommar.  Olof  Pedersson,  alias  Olaus  Petri. 

Brask  (staring  hard  at  Olof}.  So  you  are  Master  Olof? 
(Olof  bows  and  looks  fixedly  at  Brask.}  I  like  you.  Would  you 
care  to  become  my  secretary  ? 

Olof.  Many  thanks,  Your  Grace,  but  I  have  no  recom- 
mendations. 

Brask.  What  have  you  to  say,  Bishop  Mans? 

Sommar.  He  is  said  to  have  found  much  favor  with  Dr. 
Luther. 

Brask.  So  I  've  heard.  Nothing  but  youthful  spirits. 
We'll  train  him. 

Olof.  I  fear  it  is  too  late ! 

Brask.  A  sapling  can  be  bent. 

Sommar.  It  is  not  wise  to  raise  vipers,  Your  Grace.  Our 


1 8  MASTER  OLOF 

canonicus  here  has  strong  leanings  toward  heresy,  and 
to-day  he  has  dared  to  defy  our  orders. 

Brask.  Is  that  so? 

Sommar.  On  fully  legal  grounds  we  have  proclaimed  an 
interdict,  and  this  man  has  ventured  to  say  mass  —  worse 
than  that,  he  has  said  a  Lutheran  mass,  and  thus  stirred 
up  the  people. 

Brask.  Take  care,  young  man !  Don't  you  know  that 
the  ban  will  fall  on  anybody  who  proclaims  Luther? 

Olof.  I  know  it,  but  I  fear  no  other  god  than  God. 

Brask.  Consider  your  words.  I  mean  well  by  you,  and 
you  repel  me. 

Olof.  You  want  to  purchase  my  ability  for  the  doctor- 
ing of  your  sick  cause,  and  I  am  shameless  enough  not  to 
sell  myself. 

Brask.  By  Saint  George,  I  think  you  are  out  of  your 
senses! 

Olof.  If  so,  don't  give  me  the  same  treatment  as  Gert 
the  Printer.  You  put  him  in  a  madhouse,  and  it  made  him 
too  wise,  I  fear. 

Brask  (to  Bishop  Sommar).  Do  you  know  Gert? 

Sommar.  No,  Your  Grace. 

Brask.  He's  a  lunatic  who  used  my  press  to  print  Lu- 
theran writings  in  place  of  the  anti-Lutheran  stuff  I  put 
into  his  hands.  Moreover,  he  was  dreaming  of  the  Apoca- 
lypse and  the  Millennium.  (To  Olof.)  Have  you  seen  him  ? 

Olof.  He  was  here  awhile  ago,  and  you  can  expect  but 
little  good  of  him. 

Brask.  Is  he  at  large? 

Olof.  He  '11  be  in  Stockholm  soon,  and  from  there  you  '11 
hear  of  him,  I  think.  Take  care,  my  Lord  Bishop! 

Brask.  Ho,  there  is  nothing  to  fear  yet. 


ACT  FIRST  19 

Olof.  The  Anabaptists  are  in  Stockholm. 
Brask.  What  do  you  say? 
Olof.  The  Anabaptists  are  in  Stockholm! 
Brask.  The  Anabaptists? 

Enter  Gust  of  Vasa  suddenly. 

Gustaf.  What's  up?  The  city  is  in  a  tumult,  the  people 
are  marching  through  the  streets  crying  for  the  mass. 
What's  the  meaning  of  all  this? 

Brask.  Mischief,  Your  Highness. 

Gustaf.  Bishop  Mans! 

Sotrimar.  The  city  has  failed  to  pay  its  tithes. 

Gustaf.  And  for  that  reason  you  refuse  to  hold  divine 
service?  'Sdeath! 

Brask.  Your  Highness  ought  to  remember — 

Gustaf.  Answer  me,  Bishop  Mans! 

Sommar.Your  Highness  ought  to  remember  that  matters 
like  these,  which  fall  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Church  — 

Gustaf.  I  command  you  to  attend  to  your  duties! 

Brask.  The  Bishops  of  Sweden  take  no  orders  except 
from  their  superiors,  the  Pope  and  the  Canon  Law. 

Gustaf  (checked}.  I  know,  but  if  the  Pope  cannot  always 
keep  an  eye  on  them? 

Brask.  That's  our  concern. 

Gustaf  (flares  up,  but  controls  himself  at  once).  Your  Grace 
is  right.  It  will  remain  your  concern. 

Brask.  To  change  the  subject  —  Stockholm  is  about  to 
rise  in  rebellion. 

Gustaf.  Who  says  so? 

Sommar.  Our  canonicus  here. 

Gustaf.  Your  schoolmaster?  Where  is  he  ?  Oh,  is  it  you ? 
What's  your  name? 


20  MASTER  OLOF 

Olof.  Olof  Pedersson. 

Gustaf.  Master  Olof!  They  tell  me  you  are  a  heretic, 
and  that  you  are  scheming  against  Holy  Church!  That's 
a  perilous  venture! 

Brask.  This  very  day  he  has  dropped  his  mask  by  daring 
to  show  open  defiance  of  the  Chapter's  prohibition  against 
services,  and  for  that  reason  we  demand  that  Your  High- 
ness consent  to  have  him  duly  punished. 

Gitstaf.  That 's  a  matter  for  the  Chapter  and  does  not 
concern  me.  (To  Olof.)  But  what  was  that  you  had  to  say 
about  a  rebellion  at  Stockholm? 

Olof.  The  Anabaptists ! 

Gustaf.  Is  that  all? 

Brask.  Does  not  Your  Highness  know  how  those  madmen 
have  been  carrying  on  in  Germany?  We  suggest  that  Your 
Highness  return  to  the  city  in  person  with  your  armed  force. 

Gustaf.  That's  a  matter  in  which  I  suit  myself! 

Brask.  But  civil  war — 

Gustaf.  That's  my  concern!  (To  Olof.)  Olof,  I  appoint 
you  to  the  clerkship  of  our  court-house  at  Stockholm.  Get 
over  there  at  once.  Speak  to  the  people.  I  put  my  trust  in 
you! 

Brask.  For  the  country's  sake  I  ask  Your  Highness  to 
consider  the  futility  of  wasting  speech  on  madmen. 

Gustaf.  Souls  are  not  controlled  by  swords.  Bear  that 
in  mind,  Your  Lordships. 

Brask.  The  Church  has  never — 

Gustaf.  Nor  by  keys!  (To  Olof.)  Go  to  my  chancellor, 
and  he  will  give  you  your  appointment. 

Brask.  You  had  better  wait  a  moment,  canonicus. 

Gustaf.  Our  secretary  will  not  put  your  orders  ahead  of 
mine. 


ACT  FIRST  21 

Brask.  The  rights  of  the  Church  must  be  assured  first 
of  all.  Olof  Pedersson  — 

Gust af  (correcting  him].  Secretary  — 

Brask.  Secretary  Olof  Pedersson  cannot  leave  this  city 
until  the  Chapter  has  pronounced  its  verdict. 

Gustaf.  The  Chapter  must  try  the  case  before  it  can  pro- 
nounce a  verdict. 

Brask.  That's  our  concern. 

Gustaf.  It  is  not  yourconcern,  Bishop  Brask.  The  Bishop 
of  Linkoping  cannot  sit  in  judgment  on  a  canonicus  at 
Strangnas.  Speak  for  yourself,  Bishop  Sommar. 

Sommar.  After  what  has  just  occurred — h'm! 

Brask.  All  further  arguments  would  seem  superfluous. 

Gustaf.  You  had  better  be  silent,  Bishop  Brask,  or  leave 
us,  as  I  am  talking  privately  to  Bishop  Sommar — pri- 
vately!—  Well,  speak  up,  Bishop  Mans! 

Sommar.  I  cannot  see  but  —  that  —  as  His  Grace,  the 
Bishop  of  Linkoping — 

Gustaf.  We  are  talking  of  Master  Olof  now.  Your  Lord- 
ships will  have  to  postpone  the  trial.  Be  kind  enough  to 
leave  us.  [Exeunt  Bishops. 

Gustaf  (to  Olof).  Will  you  be  my  man? 

Olof.  Your  Highness'  secretary? 

Gustaf.  No,  my  right  hand — on  the  condition  that  for 
the  present  the  left  hand  shall  not  know  what  the  right  is 
doing.  Go  to  Stockholm. 

Olof.  The  Chapter  will  demand  my  surrender  and  ban 
me. 

Gustaf.  Before  they  get  to  that  point  you  may  fall  back 
on  me,  but  until  then  —  stand  on  your  own  feet  as  far  as 
you  can. 

Olof.  What  is  Your  Highness'  will? 


22  MASTER  OLOF 

Gustaf.  Talk  to  those  fanatics  in  Stockholm. 

Olof.  And  then? 

Gustaf.  Oh,  that's  a  long  way  off.  I  don't  dare  to  think 
so  far  yet,  —  Let  them  preach.  It  can't  hurt  those  sottish 
spirits  to  hear  a  new  word,  even  if  it  be  not  all  true.  But 
there  must  be  no  violence;  for  then  the  sword  will  join 
in  the  game.  Farewell,  Olof!  [£#//. 

Olof  (alone).  So  the  Emperor  won't  be  friends  with  the 
Pope! 

(The  two  scholars,  who  have  been  waiting  among  the  trees 
in  the  background,  come  forward.) 

First  Scholar.  Shall  we  go  on  with  the  play,  Master 
Olof? 

Olof.  No,  children,  there  will  be  no  more  playing. 

First  Scholar.  Are  you  going  to  leave  us,  Master  Olof? 

Olof.  Yes,  and  probably  forever. 

First  Scholar.  Can't  you  stay  over  Whitsuntide,  so  that 
we  can  perform  our  comedy? 

Second  Scholar.  And  so  that  I  can  play  the  Angel  Ga- 
briel? 

First  Scholar.  Please  do  as  we  ask  you,  Master  Olof! 
You  are  the  only  one  who  has  been  nice  to  us  and  spared 
us  those  terrible  fasts. 

Second  Scholar.  Oh,  don't  go  away  from  us,  Master 
Olof! 

Olof.  You  don't  know  what  you  are  asking,  children. 
The  day  will  come  when  you  shall  thank  the  Lord  that  I 
did  go  away  from  you.  —  Oh,  no,  I  hope  such  a  day  will 
never  come!  —  But  let  us  make  our  leave-taking  brief. 
Good-bye,  Nils!  Good-bye,  Vilhelm ! 

(He  embraces  them,  and  they  kiss  his  hand.  In  the  meantime 
Lars  Anders  son  has  entered  and  is  watching  the  group  closely.) 


ACT  FIRST  23 

First  Scholar.  Won't  you  ever  come  back,  Master  Olof  ? 
Lars  (coming  forward).  Are  you  ready  to  start  now  ? 
Olof  (to  the  scholars).  No,  I  shall  never  come  back. 
Scholars  (as  they  go  out).  Good-bye,  Master  Olof,  and 
don't  forget  us!  (Olof  stands  looking  after  them.} 
Lars.  I  have  seen  the  King. 
Olof  (absent-mindedly).  Have  you? 
Lars.  Do  you  know  what  he  said? 
Olof.  No. 

Lars.  "I  have  got  a  harrier  to  raise  the  game;  now  it 
remains  to  be  seen  whether  he  will  come  back  when  I 
whistle  for  him ! " 

Olof.  Look  at  them — playing  there  among  the  graves, 
and  picking  flowers,  and  singing  the  songs  of  Whitsun- 
tide. 

Lars  (taking  hold  of  Olofs  arm).  Child ! 
Olof  (with  a  start).  What  did  you  say? 
Lars.  I  thought  you  had  laid  your  hand  so  firmly  on  the 
plough  handle  to-day  that  there  could  be  no  question  of 
looking  back.  (Olof  waves  his  hand  to  the  scholars.)  Are  you 
still  dreaming? 

Olof.  It  was  the  last  bright  morning  dream  that  passed 
away  from  me.  Pardon  me — I  am  awake  now! 

\Exeunt  toward  the  right.  When  they  are  nearly  out,  Olof 
turns  for  a  last  look  at  the  scholars.  These  have  disap- 
peared in  the  meantime,  and  in  their  place  appear  the  two 
Black  Friars,  Marten  and  Nils.  On  seeing  them,  Olof 
utters  a  startled  cry  and  puts  one  hand  to  his  forehead. 
Lars  drags  him  out. 


ACT  II 

SCENE  i 

A  Room  in  the  Foundation  Wall  of  the  Church  of  St.  Nicolaus 
at  Stockholm  (generally  known  as  Great  church),  used  as  a  beer- 
shop.  A  bar  full  of  pots  and  mugs  occupies  the  background.  To 
the  right  of  the  bar  stands  a  table,  back  of  which  appears  an 
iron  door.  Two  disguised  friars  (Marten  and  Niti\  are  seated 
at  this  table  drinking  beer.  The  other  tables  are  surrounded  by 
German  mercenaries, peasants,  and  sailors.  The  door  to  the  street 
is  at  the  right.  A  fiddler  is  seated  on  top  of  a  barrel.  The  soldiers 
are  throwing  dice.  All  are  drunk  and  noisy.  Hans  Windrank, 
a  man  from  Smaland,a  German  tradesman,  and  a  Dane  are 
seated  together  at  one  of  the  tables. 

German  (to  the  Dane).  So  you  defend  a  bloodthirsty  brute 
like  Christian? 

Dane.  Oh,  mercy,  he's  human,  is  n't  he? 

German.  No,  he 's  a  monster !  A  bloodthirsty  brute !  A 
treacherous,  cowardly  Dane ! 

Dane.  Zounds!  But  you'd  better  not  talk  of  blood.  Do 
you  remember  the  massacre  on  Kappling  Island,  when  the 
Germans  — 

Windrank.  Listen  to  me,  good  Sirs!  Let's  be  friends 
now,  and  have  some  fun, and  I'll  tell  you  about  Americky. 

German.  Are  you  going  to  blame  us  of  Liibeck  for  what 
the  Germans  did? 

Dane.  Oh,  mercy,  I  was  talking  of  the  Germans  only  — 

Windrank.  Listen,  good  Sirs,  what's  the  use  of  quarrel- 
ling? (To  the  Tavern-keeper.}  Four  noggins  of  gin!  Now 
let's  be  calm  and  agreeable, and  I  '11  tell  you  of  Americky. 
(They  are  served?) 


ACT  SECOND  25 

German  (sipping).  A  noble  drink !  Think  of  it,  good  Sirs, 
how  everything  is  advancing.  To-day  the  grain  is  growing 
in  the  field  — 

Windrank.  And  to-morrow  it's  made  into  wine.  I  won- 
der who  first  found  out  how  it's  done? 

German.  Beg  your  pardon,  but  that 's  a  German  in- 
vention. I  call  it  invention,  because  you  discover  Amer- 
icky. 

Windrank.  And  the  Germans  never  make  any  discov- 
eries ? 

German.  'Sdeath! 

Windrank.  Now,  now!  You're  no  German, you  said. 

Dane  (to  the  German).  Can  you  tell  me  who  invented 
the  story  that  the  Swedes  got  their  present  king  from  the 
Germans?  (General  laughter?) 

German.  It  was  we  of  Liibeck  who  gave  Sweden  a  lib- 
erator when  she  was  on  the  verge  of  ruin. 

Windrank.  Here's  to  the  King! 

Dane.  Here's  to  Liibeck! 

German  {flattered}.  Really  I  don't  know  how  to  — 

Windrank.  Why,  you  are  n't  the  King ! 

German.  Beg  your  pardon,  but  it  was  my  Danish  broth- 
er's— 

Dane.  How  can  you  be  of  Liibeck  when  you  are  a  citizen 
of  Stockholm  ? 

Windrank  (to  the  Man  from  Smaland}.  Why  won't  our 
silent  brother  drink  at  all? 

Man  from  Smdland.  I  '11  drink  your  corn-juice,  but  when 
it  comes  to  the  King's  health,  I  do  like  this !  (He  crushes  the 
tin  cup  and  throws  it  on  the  floor?) 

Windrank  (groping  with  one  hand  for  his  sheath  knife). 
You  won't  drink  the  King's  health? 


26  MASTER  OLOF 

Man  from  Smdland.  I  've  been  drinking  the  cup  he  of- 
fered me  so  long  that  I  don't  care  to  drink  his  health  any 
longer. 

Windrank.  'Sblood! 

German  (eagerly).  Hush,  hush !  Let's  hear  what  he 's  got 
to  say. 

Dane  (in  the  same  way).  Mercy,  yes! 

Man  from  Smdland.  The  Lord  help  me  when  I  get  home 
again ! 

Windrank  (sentimentally}.  What  is  it,  my  dear  man? 
Why  do  you  look  so  sad  ?  Do  you  need  money  ?  Look  here, 
now!  (He  pulls  out  his  purse?)  I've  half  my  wages  left. 
What's  the  matter  with  you? 

Man  from  Smdland.  Don't  let  us  talk  about  it.  More  gin ! 
Gin  here !  I  've  money,  too.  Do  you  see  ?  Gold!  (The  liquor  is 
served.}  It  is  n't  mine,  but  I  '11  spend  it  on  drink  to  the  last 
farthing,  and  you  '11  please  help  me. 

Windrank.  And  yet  it  is  n't  your  money — how  can  you 
do  that? 

German.  Who's  wronged  you,  my  dear  fellow?  I  can 
see  that  you  have  fared  badly. 

Man  from  Smdland.  I  am  ruined !  You  see,  I  got  two 
hundred  oxen  on  trust,  and  when  I  came  to  Stockholm  the 
King's  agent  took  charge  of  the  whole  business,  and  he 
said  I  could  n't  sell  them  for  more  than  he  allowed.  It 's  the 
King  that  fixes  the  price  on  oxen — it's  the  King  that  has 
ruined  me. 

German.  You  don't  say! 

Man  from  Smdland.  Oh,  I  know  a  lot  more.  He  means 
to  take  the  priests  and  the  monks  away  from  us  in  order  to 
give  everything  to  the  gentlefolk. 

Dane.  To  the  gentlefolk  ? 


ACT  SECOND  27 

Man  from  Smaland.  Exactly!  I  wish  King  Christian  — 
God  bless  him! — had  cut  off  a  few  more  heads. 

Windrank.  Well,  is  the  King  like  that?  I  thought  he  had 
those  noble  fellows  by  the  ear. 

Man  from  Smaland.  He?  No,  he  lets  them  be  born  with 
the  right  to  cut  oak  on  my  ground,  if  I  had  any.  For  I  did 
have  a  patch  of  land  once,  you  see,  but  then  came  a  lord 
who  said  that  my  great-grandmother  had  taken  it  all  in  loan 
from  his  great-grandfather,  and  so  there  was  an  end  to  that 
story. 

German.  Why,  is  the  King  like  that  ?  I  would  never  have 
believed  it. 

Man  from  Smaland.  Indeed  he  is !  Those  high-born  brats 
run  around  with  their  guns  in  our  woods  and  pick  off  the 
deer  out  of  sheer  mischief,  but  if  one  of  us  peasants  were 
dying  from  hunger  and  took  a  shot  at  one  of  the  beasts — 
well,  then  he  wouldn't  have  to  starve  to  death,  for  they'd 
hang  him — but  not  to  an  oak — Lord,  no!  That  would  be 
a  shame  for  such  a  royal  tree.  No,  just  to  an  ordinary  pine. 
The  pine,  you  see,  has  no  crown,  and  that's  why  it  isn't 
royal — and  that's  why  the  old  song  says: 

The  peasants  we  hanged  in  lines 
From  the  tops  of  the  tallest  pines. 

It  has  nothing  to  say  about  crowns,  mind  you. 

German.  But  the  pine  carries  its  head  high  just  the  same, 
and  its  back  is  straight. 

Man  from  Smaland.  Drink,  good  Sirs!  You're  right  wel- 
come to  't.  It's  a  blessed  drink.  If  only  I  didn't  have  wife 
and  children  at  home!  Oh,  my,  my,  my!  But  that's  all 
one!  Oh,  I  know  a  lot  more,  but  I  know  how  to  keep  it 
to  myself,  too. 


28  MASTER  OLOF 

Windrank.  What  do  you  know? 

German.  Maybe  it's  something  diverting? 

Man  from  Smaland.  You  see — if  you  counted  all  the 
pines  of  Smaland,  I  think  you  'd  find  a  whole  lot  more  of 
them  than  of  oaks. 

German.  You  think  so? 

Windrank.  I  don't  like  you  to  talk  badly  of  the  King.  I 
don't  know  what  he  is  doing  or  saying,  and  it  is  n't  my 
business  either,  but  I  know  he  takes  good  care  of  the  ship- 
ping trade.  Yes,  it's  he  who  has  put  ships  on  the  Spanish 
trade,  and  who  has  made  me  a  skipper,  and  so  I've  got  no 
fault  to  find  with  him. 

German.  He  has  done  it  out  of  sheer  deviltry,  just  to 
hurt  the  trade  of  Liibeck — of  Liibeck,  to  which  he  owes 
such  a  great  debt! 

Man  from  Smaland.  Well,  he'll  get  what  he  deserves! 
A  steer  does  n't  lose  his  horns  when  you  make  an  ox 
of  him.  Many  thanks  for  your  company.  Now  I've  got 
to  go. 

German.  Oh,  no!  Just  one  more  noggin  —  and  then  we 
can  talk  a  little  more. 

Man  from  Smaland.  No,  thanks,  though  I'm  sure  it's 
good  of  you, but  that's  all  I  dare  take,  for  otherwise  I  fear 
this  will  end  badly.  I've  wife  and  children  at  home,  you 
see,  and  now  I'm  going  home — to  tell  them  we're  ruined 
— no — I  don't  dare  to  —  I  'm  much  obliged,  Mr.  German 
— let's  drink  some  more. 

German.  That's  right!  (They  drink.} 

Man  from  Smaland  (emptying  his  cup  and  jumping  up}. 
Oh,  damn  the  bitter  stuff!  [Exit,  staggering. 

German  (to  the  Dane).  O  Lord — when  that  fellow  wakes 
up! 


ACT  SECOND  29 

( The  Dane  nods  assent.  The  noise  has  been  steadily  increasing. 
The  fiddler  is  playing.  Then  the  organ  begins  to  play  in  the 
church?) 

Windrank.  It's  strange,  I  think,  that  the  King  lets  them 
have  a  drinkshop  in  the  church  wall. 

German.  Does  it  hurt  your  conscience,  skipper?  The 
King  does  n't  know  it,  you  see. 

Windrank.  But  they  don't  go  together,  the  organ  music 
and  the  singing  in  here.  I  've  always  been  a  God-fearing 
man,  ever  since  I  was  at  home. 

German  (ironically).  Happy  the  man  brought  up  in  that 
way!  You  had  a  mother — 

Windrank  (moved}.  Yes — yes! 

German.  Who  tucked  you  up  nights  and  taught  you  to 
say:  "Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep." 

Windrank.  That's  it! 

German.  And  a  fine  woman  she  was! 

Windrank  (on  whom  the  drink  is  beginning  to  show  its 
effect).  Oh,  if  you  only  knew ! 

German.  The  Lord  has  heard  her  prayers.  You  're  weep- 
ing. So  you  must  be  a  good  man. 

Dane.  Dear  me! 

German.  If  your  mother  could  only  see  you  now — with 
those  tears  in  your  eyes ! 

Windrank.  Oh,  I  know  I  'm  a  poor  miserable  sinner 
—  I  know  it!  But  I  tell  you — I 've  got  a  heart,  damn  it! 
Just  let  a  poor  wretch  come  and  tell  me  he  is  hungry,  and 
I  '11  take  off  my  own  shirt  and  give  it  to  him. 

German.  How  about  another  drink? 

Windrank.  No,  I  don't  think  so. 

(Several  blows  are  struck  on  the  iron  door  from  the  outside, 
causing  general  excitement^) 


30  MASTER  OLOF 

Windrank.  God-a-mercy ! 

German.  Don't  get  scared.  That  's  not  the  gate  of  heaven. 

Windrank.  I  '11  never  drink  another  drop — I  vow  and 
swear! 

German  (to  the  Dane).  What  a  blessed  drink  gin  must 
be,  seeing  it  can  move  a  rogue  like  that  to  sentimentality  — 
nay,  even  to  thoughts  of  sobriety. 

Dane.  You  're  right.  There  is  nothing  like  it. 

German.  It  opens  the  heart  wide  and  closes  the  head. 
Which  means  that  it  makes  good  people  of  us,  for  those 
are  called  good,  you  know,  who  have  much  heart  and  little 
head. 

Dane.  I'd  go  still  farther.  Gin  makes  us  religious.  For 
it  kills  reason,  and  reason  is  the  rock  that  keeps  religion 
from  entering  our  hearts. 

German.  Most  holy  is  gin!  Strange  that — 

Dane.  You  need  say  no  more ! 
(More  blows  are  struck  on  the  iron  door?) 

Windrank  (who  has  fallen  asleep,  is  awakened  by  the  blows). 
Help!  I  die! 

German.  What  a  pity  to  lose  such  a  sweet  soul! 
(The  door  is  pushed  open  so  that  the  table  at  which  Marten 
and  Nils  are  seated  is  upset  together  with  the  mugs  and  cups 
on  it.  A  woman  wearing  a  red  and  black  skirt,  with  a  nun  s 
veil  thrown  over  her  head,  comes  running  into  the  room.  For 
a  moment  Gert  can  be  seen  in  the  doorway  behind  her,  but  the 
door  is  immediately  closed  again?) 

Harlot  (with  a  startled  glance  at  her  surroundings].  Save 
me!  The  people  want  to  kill  me! 

A  German  Mercenary.  A  harlot  under  a  nun's  veil!  Ha- 
ha-ha!  (General  laughter?) 

Marten  (making  the  sign  of  the  cross).  A  harlot !  Who  dares 


ACT  SECOND  31 

to  bring  her  into  this  respectable  company?  Master  tav- 
erner,  take  her  out  of  here,  or  she  '11  hurt  the  good  name  of 
the  place  and  the  sanctity  of  the  church. 

Harlot.  Will  nobody  here  save  me  ?  (In  the  meantime  the 
tavern-keeper  has  seized  her  by  the  arm  to  lead  her  into  the 
street?)  Don't  give  me  into  the  hands  of  that  furious  mob ! 
I  wanted  to  steal  into  the  Lord's  house  that  I  might  share 
in  His  grace — I  wanted  to  start  a  new  life — but  the  monks 
drove  me  out  and  set  the  people  on  me — until  Father  Gert 
came  and  saved  me. 

Marten.  You  can  hear  for  yourselves.  She  has  polluted 
the  Lord's  temple.  She  wants  to  hide  the  garment  of  shame 
beneath  the  veil  of  sanctity. 

German.  And  there  is  n't  enough  of  the  veil. 

Marten  (approaching  the  woman  to  tear  the  veil  from  her 
face}.  Off  with  the  mask,  and  let  your  abomination  be  seen 
by  all!  (He  draws  back  when  he  catches  sight  of  her  face?) 

Harlot.  So  it's  you,  Marten — you  murderer! 

German.  Old  chums! 

Marten.  That's  a  shameless  lie!  I  never  have  seen  her 
before.  I  am  Brother  Marten,  of  the  Dominicans,  and  Bro- 
ther Nils  here  can  be  my  witness. 

Nils  (intoxicated").  I  can  testify — that  Brother  Marten 
has  never  seen  this  woman. 

Harlot.  And  yet  it  was  you,  Nils,  who  showed  me  Mar- 
ten's letter  of  absolution  when  I  was  driven  out  of  the  con- 
vent and  he  was  permitted  to  stay. 

Nils.  Yes — come  to  think  of  it! 

Marten  (in  a  rage,  pulling  Nils  by  the  sleeve] .  You  're 
lying — you,  too!  Can't  you  see  he  is  drunk? 

German.  My  dear  folks,  I  can  testify  that  the  reverend 
brother  is  drunk,  and  that's  why  he  is  lying! 


32  MASTER  OLOF 

Crowd  (with  signs  of  disgust).  A  drunken  priest! 

German.  Well,  booze  is  absolution  for  lying.  Is  n't  that 
so,  Father  Marten? 

Tavern-keeper.  Really,  I  can't  let  my  house  be  the  meet- 
ing-place for  any  kind  of  disturbance.  If  this  goes  on,  I  '11 
lose  my  customers  and  get  hauled  before  the  Chapter. 
Won't  you  please  take  away  that  miserable  creature  who  's 
causing  all  this  noise? 

Marten.  Take  her  out,  or  I'll  have  you  all  banned! 
Don't  you  know  that  we  are  now  within  the  consecrated 
walls  of  the  church,  although  the  Chapter  allows  this  out- 
house to  be  used  for  the  material  refreshment  of  travellers  ? 

German.  Surely  this  room  is  holy,  good  folk,  and  surely 
the  Lord  doth  dwell  here. 
(The  crowd  begins  to  drag  the  Harlot  toward  the  street  door.) 

Harlot.  Jesus  Christ,  help  me! 

Enter  Olof.  He  appears  in  the  door,  and  pushes  through  the 
crowd  until  he  reaches  the  Harlot,  whose  hand  he  takes  so  that 
he  can  pull  her  away  from  the  drunken  men  about  her. 

Olof.  Answer  me — who  is  this  woman? 

Marten.  She  's  no  woman. 

Olof.  What  do  you  mean? 

Marten.  She  is  no  man  either,  although  she  's  disguised. 

Olof.  "She,"  you  say — and  yet  not  a  woman? 

Marten.  She's  a  harlot. 

Olof  (shocked,  drops  the  woman's  hand].  A  harlot! 

German.  Don't  let  go  of  her,  Master  Olof,  or  she  '11  run 
away. 

Olof.  Why  are  you  laying  hands  on  her?  What  is  her 
crime  ? 

German.  Going  to  church. 


ACT  SECOND  33 

Olof.  I  see!  (lie  looks  around.} 

Marten.  What  are  you  looking  for? 

Olof  (catching  sight  of  Marten).  A  priest ! 

Marten.  I  am  a  Black  Friar. 

Olof.  Yes,  I  guessed  that  much.  So  it 's  you  who  have 
incited  the  people  against  her? 

Marten.  I  am  protecting  the  church  from  foulness  and 
trying  to  keep  it  free  of  vice.  She  is  a  banned  woman,  who 
has  been  trafficking  with  her  own  body,  which  should  be 
a  temple  of  the  Lord.  (The  woman  kneels  before  Olof.} 

Olof  (taking  her  by  the  hand}.  But  I,  Dominican,  dare 
to  take  her  hand  and  match  her  against  you.  She  has  sold 
her  body, you  say — how  many  souls  have  you  bought? 
—  I  am  also  a  priest — Nay,  I  am  a  man,  for  I  am  not 
presumptuous  enough  to  put  a  lock  on  God's  own  house, 
and  as  a  sinful  human  creature  I  hold  out  my  hand  to  my 
fellow-creature,  who  cannot  be  pure  either.  Let  him  who 
is  without  sin  step  forward  and  cast  the  first  stone.  —  Step 
forward,  Brother  Marten,  you  angel  of  light,  who  have 
donned  the  black  garments  of  innocence  and  shaved  your 
hair  so  that  no  one  may  see  how  you  have  grown  gray  in 
sin !  Or  have  you  no  stone  ready,  perhaps  ?  Alas  for  you, 
then !  What  have  you  done  with  those  you  were  to  hand 
the  people  when  they  were  crying  for  bread?  Have  you 
already  given  them  all  away? — Step  forward,  you  highly 
respectable  citizen.  (To  Windrank,  who  is  asleep  on  the 
floor.}  You,  who  are  sleeping  the  sleep  of  a  brute,  why 
don't  you  wake  up  and  fling  your  knife  at  her?  —  Do  you 
see  how  he  is  blushing?  Can  it  be  from  shame  at  the 
bad  company  you  have  brought  him  into,  or  from  carnal 
desire?  (The  crowd  mutters  disapprovingly.}  You  are  mut- 
tering! Is  that  because  you  are  ashamed  of  my  words  or 


34  MASTER  OLOF 

of  yourselves  ?  Why  don't  you  cast  the  stones  ?  Oh,  you 
haven't  any.  Well,  open  that  door.  Summon  the  people 
outside  and  hand  this  woman  over  to  them.  If  you  don't 
think  fifty  men  have  power  enough  to  tear  her  to  pieces, 
you  maybe  sure  that  five  hundred  women  will  avail.  Well  ? 
You  are  silent?  —  Rise  up,  woman!  You  have  been  ac- 
quitted. Go  and  sin  no  more.  But  don't  show  yourself  to 
the  priests,  for  they  will  deliver  you  up  to  the  women ! 

Marten  (who  has  tried  to  interrupt  Olof  several  times,  but 
has  been  held  back  by  the  German,  now  displays  a  document). 
This  man,  to  whom  you  have  been  listening,  is  a  heretic, 
as  you  may  have  heard  from  his  talk,  and  he  has  also  been 
excommunicated.  Here  you  can  see!  Read  for  yourselves! 
(He  takes  one  of  the  candles  from  the  nearest  table  and  throws 
it  on  the  floor?)  "  As  this  candle,  that  we  here  cast  out,  is 
extinguished,  so  shall  be  extinguished  all  his  happiness  and 
weal  and  whatsoever  good  may  come  to  him  from  God!" 

Crowd  (draws  back,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  so  that 
Olof  is  left  alone  with  the  Harlot  in  the  middle  of  the  room). 
Anathema! 

Marten  (to  the  Harlot).  There  you  can  hear  how  much 
Master  Olof's  absolution  avails  you. 

Olof  (who  has  been  taken  aback  for  a  moment).  Do  you 
still  dare  to  trust  my  word,  woman  ?  Are  you  not  afraid  of 
me?  Can  you  not  hear  the  lightnings  of  the  ban  hissing 
around  our  heads?  Why  don't  you  join  these  twenty  right- 
eous ones  who  still  remain  within  the  refuge  of  Holy 
Church? — Answer  me!  Do  you  think  the  Lord  has  cast 
me  out  as  these  have  done  ? 

Harlot.  No! 

Olof  (seizing  the  letter  of  excommunication).  Well,  then! 
The  great  bishop  of  the  small  city  of  Linkoping  has  sold 


ACT  SECOND  35 

my  soul  to  Satan  for  the  term  of  my  life — for  farther  than 
that  his  power  does  not  reach — and  he  has  done  so  because 
I  bade  the  people  seek  their  Lord  when  they  had  been 
prohibited  from  doing  so!  Here  is  the  contract!  As  the 
Church,  by  that  contract,  has  bound  me  to  hell,  so  I  set 
myself  free  from  it  (he  tears  the  letter  to  pieces)  —  and  from 
the  ban  of  the  Church,  too !  So  help  me  God !  Amen ! 

Crowd  (howling).  Anathema! 

Marten.  Down  with  him!  At  him!  He  is  banned! 

Olof  (placing  himself  in  front  of  the  Harlot).  Do  you  hear 
the  devils  yelling  for  their  victim  ?  —  Dare  not  to  touch  me ! 

Marten.  At  him !  Down  with  him ! 

Just  as  one  of  the  mercenaries  raises  his  weapon  to  strike,  the 
iron  door  in  the  rear  is  flung  open,  and  the  Anabaptists,  headed 
by  Knipperdollink,  come  rushing  in,  uttering  wild  cries.  They 
carry  broken  crucifixes  and  images  of  saints  as  well  as  torn  vest- 
ments. All  those  in  the  room  before  are  forced  toward  the  street 
door. 

Knipperdollink  (as  he  pushes  back  the  iron  door  and  enters 
ahead  of  the  rest).  Come  here,  folk — here's  another  sanc- 
tum!—  What's  this?  A  drinkshop  in  the  temple! — Look 
ye!  Look  ye — the  abomination  has  gone  so  far  that  the 
tabernacle  itself  is  being  polluted.  But  I  will  cleanse  it 
with  fire.  Set  fire  to  the  church  and  prepare  a  stake  for  the 
saints! 

Olof  (stepping  forward).  Consider  what  you  propose 
to  do! 

Knipperdollink.  Are  you  afraid  that  the  beer  kegs  will 
burst  from  the  heat,  you  Belial?  Are  you  the  popish  tapster 
who  thought  it  not  robbery  to  build  vice  a  chapel  in  the 
very  wall  of  the  church  ? 


36  MASTER  OLOF 

Olof.  I  am  the  Secretary  of  the  Court-House,  and  I 
command  you  in  the  name  of  the  King  to  keep  order! 

Knipperdollink.  So  you  are  the  man  whom  the  King  has 
sent  here  to  make  war  on  our  sacred  cause?  Onward, 
onward,  ye  men  of  God,  and  seize  him  first  of  all  !  After- 
wards we  '11  cleanse  the  temple  of  the  Lord  from  idolatry. 

Marten.  Go  at  him,  good  folk,  for  he's  a  heretic  and 
under  the  ban! 

Knipperdolltnk.  A  heretic  ?  You  are  not  one  of  the  pa- 
pists, then? 

Olof.  Since  they  have  banned  me,  I  can  no  longer  be 
of  the  Church. 

Knipperdollink.  Then  you  are  on  our  side  ?  (  Olof  remains 
silent?)  Answer:  are  you  with  us  or  against  us? 

Marten.  He  's  Olof  Pedersson,  the  man  that  was  sent 
here  by  the  King. 

Knipperdollink.  Are  you  Olof  Pedersson  ? 

Olof.  I  am. 

Knipperdollink.  But  a  heretic? 

Olof.  I  pride  myself  on  being  one. 

Knipperdollink.  And  yet  take  service  with  the  King? 


(  The  Anabaptists  raise  an  outcry  and  surround  Olof.) 
Enter  Gert  quickly  through  the  door  in  the  rear. 

Gert.  Hold!  What  are  you  doing? 
Knipperdollink.  Gert!  —  Who  is  this  man? 
Gert.  One  of  our  own.  Let  him  go,  friends!  Over  there 
you  see  the  emissaries  of  the  Devil! 

(He  points  to  Marten  and  Nils,  who  Jlee  through  the  street 
door,  closely  pursued  by  the  Anabaptists.  At  the  door  Gert  stops 
and  turns  toward  Olof.  The  Harlot  is  crouching  in  a  corner  of 


ACT  SECOND  37 

the  room.  Windrank  is  still  sleeping  under  one  of  the  tables. 
Olof  is  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  sunk  in  deep 
thought.} 

Gert  (exhausted,  throws  himself  on  a  bench).  It 's  heavy 
work,  Olof. 

Olof.  What  have  you  been  doing? 

Gert.  Oh,  a  little  house-cleaning,  to  begin  with. 

Olof.  For  which  you  will  pay  dearly. 

Gert.  So  far  we  have  the  upper  hand.  The  whole  city 
has  been  roused.  Rink  is  at  work  in  St.  George's  Chapel. 
Tell  me,  has  the  King  sent  you  to  oppose  us? 

Olof.  He  has. 

Gert.  That  was  a  most  sensible  thing  to  do! 

Olof.  To-morrow  I  am  to  preach  from  the  new  pulpit. 

Gert.  Do  you  call  this  fulfilling  your  royal  mission  ?  Here 
you  are,  still  standing  with  your  arms  folded. 

Olof.  Come  to  church  to-morrow  with  your  brethren. 

Gert.  Is  it  going  to  be  an  archipapal  sermon  ? 

Olof.  I  have  been  put  under  the  ban  to-day. 

Gert  (jumps  up  and  puts  his  arms  around  Olof}.  God  bless 
you,  Olof !  That  is  indeed  the  baptism  of  new  birth! 

Olof.  I  don't  understand  you  yet.  Why  do  you  carry  on 
like  wild  beasts  ?  You  seem  to  be  outraging  all  that  is  held 
sacred. 

Gert  (picking  up  the  broken  image  of  a  saint).  Do  you  call 
this  fellow  holy?  A  St.  Nicolaus,  I  think.  Can  it  be  pos- 
sible, then,  that  Jesus  Christ  has  come  down  and  lived 
among  us  to  no  purpose,  as  we  are  still  worshipping  logs 
of  wood?  Can  this  be  a  god,  which  I  can  break  to  pieces? 
See! 

Olof.  But  he  is  sacred  to  the  people. 

Gert.  So  was  the  golden  calf,  and  so  was  Zeus;  so  were 


38  MASTER  OLOF 

Thor  and  Odin,  too.  And  yet  they  were  struck  down. 
(Catches  sight  of  the  Harlot.}  Who 's  that  woman  ?  Oh,  the 
one  I  tried  to  save  by  sending  her  in  here.  Tell  me  one 
thing,  Olof.  Have  you  been  bought  by  the  King? 

Olof.  Leave  me,  Gert !  I  hate  you ! 

Gert.  Who  's  that  pig  asleep  over  there  ? 

Olof.  When  I  face  you,  I  seem  to  shrink.  Leave  me ! 
I  want  to  do  my  own  work,  and  not  yours. 

Gert.  Listen! 

Olof.  You  are  trying  to  confuse  my  fate  with  your  own. 

Gert.  Listen! 

Olof.  You  have  surrounded  me  with  an  invisible  net. 
You  have  proclaimed  me  an  Anabaptist.  How  am  I  going 
to  face  the  King? 

Gert.  Which  king? 

Olof.  King  Gustaf ! 

Gert.  Oh, that  one! — Well, good-bye, then, Olof. — So 
you're  going  to  preach  to-morrow?  —  Why  doesn't  that 
woman  go  her  way?  —  Good-bye!  [Exit. 

Olof.  Is  that  man  running  errands  for  God  or  for  Satan  ? 

Harlot  (approaches  Olof  and  kneels  before  him}.  Let  me 
thank  you ! 

Olof.  Give  thanks  to  God  alone  for  having  saved  your 
soul,  and  don't  think  that  all  your  sins  have  been  expiated 
to-day.  Try  to  find  strength  to  live  a  life  that  will  always 
be  cursed.  God  has  forgiven  you — your  fellow-men  will 
never  do  so!  (He  takes  her  by  the  hand  and  leads  her  to  the 
street  door.} 

Enter  Marten  through  the  doorway  in  the  rear,  followed  by 
Olofs  Mother  and  Christine,  the  daughter  of  Gert. 

Marten.  We  're  in  the  wrong  place,  I  fear. 


ACT  SECOND  39 

Mother  (outraged  at  seeing  Olof  and  the  Harlot  together}. 
Olof,  Olof! 

Christine.  Who  is  that  woman?  She  looks  so  un- 
happy. 

Marten.  Let  us  get  away  from  this  den  of  iniquity ! 

Olof  (turning  and  running  toward  the  iron  door,  which  is 
closed  in  his  face  by  Marten].  Mother!  Mother! 

\_He  runs  out  through  the  other  door. 
(The  stage  is  darkened.} 

SCENE  2 

The  Same  Room.  The  door  to  the  church  is  opened  cautiously, 
and  the  Sexton,  who  is  also  the  organ-blower,  enters  warily.  He 
carries  a  lantern  and  is  followed  by  his  Wife. 
Sexton.  Catherine  dear,  will  you  hold  the  lantern  a  mo- 
ment while  I  put  on  the  padlock? 

Wife.  First  we  must  have  a  look  at  all  this  wretched- 
ness, Bengt  dear.  Never  could  I  have  believed  that  the 
public-house  was  so  near  to  us.  It's  perfectly  dreadful! 
Look — whole  barrels  full  of  beer! 

Sexton.  And  gin,  too.  Don't  you  smell  it?  It  will  give 
me  a  headache  if  I  stay  much  longer. 

Wife.  Lord  have  mercy,  what  a  sinful  life  they  must 
have  lived  in  here! 

Sexton.  Catherine  dear! 

Wife.  Yes,  dear. 

Sexton.  Do  you  know  I  am  not  feeling  quite  well.  This 
place  is  so  damp  and  cold. 

Wife.  Perhaps  we  had  better  go  home? 

Sexton.  Oh,  I  think  I  must  sit  down  and  rest  on  the 
bench  here. 


40  MASTER  OLOF 

Wife.  You  should  n't  sit  down  in  all  this  dampness  and 
cold.  Let  us  get  back  into  the  church. 

Sexton.  No,  I  think  it  was  still  colder  out  there. 

Wife.  You  haven't  a  fever,  have  you? 

Sexton.  I  almost  think  I  have  —  I'm  so  hot. 

Wife.  Maybe  you  want  something  to  drink  ? 

Sexton.  That  would  n't  be  a  bad  thing,  perhaps. 

Wife.  I  '11  see  if  there  is  any  water  around. 

Sexton.  Don't  think  you'll  find  any  in  this  kind  of  a 
hole. 

Wife.  But  you  can't  drink  beer  if  you  have  a  fever. 

Sexton.  Do  you  know,  I  think  the  fever  has  passed  away. 
Now  I  'm  feeling  cold. 

Wife.  I  '11  see  if  I  can't  find  some  small  beer. 

Sexton.  It  has  to  be  pretty  strong,  I  think,  if  it 's  to  do 
any  good.  There  's  a  keg  of  Rostock  No.  4  over  there — 
marked  A.  W.,  don't  you  see? 

Wife  (searching).  I  can't  find  it.  Here  's  an  Amsterdam 
No.  3. 

Sexton.  Can't  you  see — up  there  on  the  fourth  shelf  at 
the  right?  (His  wife  continues  to  look.)  The  tap  is  lying  to 
the  left  of  it,  right  by  the  funnel. 

Wife.  I  don't  think  it 's  there. 

Sexton.  Just  as  if  I  did  n't  know! 

Wife.  Yes,  here  it  is. 

(The  Sexton  gets  up  to  help  his  wife  and  accidentally  steps  on 
Windrank^) 

Windrank  (waking  up).  Mercy!  Jesu  Christ!  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul!  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  and  St.  George  and 
the  Dragon,  and  all  the  rest!  And  ires  dire  glories  in  ex- 
cellence, and  deuces  tecum  vademecum  Christ  Jesu,  and 
birds  of  a  feather,  and  now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,  and 


ACT  SECOND  41 

a  child  is  born  for  you  to  keep — Amen!  Amen  ! — Who's 
stepping  on  my  windbag? 

Sexton  (frightened}.  Will  you  please  tell  me  whether  you 
are  a  man  or  a  ghost? 

Windrank.  Man  most  of  the  time,  but  just  now  I  'm  a 
beast. 

Sexton.  What  kind  of  a  man,  if  I  may  ask? 

Windrank.  A  shipman  —  which  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  blow  all  the  wind  out  of  me. 

Sexton.  But  that's  my  business,  you  know — I  blow  the 
bellows  of  the  big  organ. 

Windrank.  So  it  was  the  organ-blower  who  honored  me — 

Sexton.  The  sexton,  to  put  it  right;  but  I  also  keep  an 
old-clothes  shop  in  the  church  wall. 

Windrank.  So  you  're  organ-blower,  sexton,  and  shop- 
keeper— 

Sexton.  In  one  person — without  confusion  or  transfor- 
mation — 

Windrank.  That 's  a  most  respectable  trinity. 

Sexton.  Such  things  should  not  be  made  fun  of! 

Windrank.  Oh,  my,  my !  I  'm  drowning !  Help ! 

Sexton.  Lord,  what  is  it? 

Windrank.  There's  a  whole  river  coming  —  Ugh! 

Sexton.  Catherine  dear!  Where  are  you,  my  angel?  (He 
runs  to  look  for  her.}  Jesu,  but  you  must  have  scared  my 
wife  out  of  her  wits.  She  has  run  away  from  the  keg — and 
taken  the  tap  along !  Get  up  —  up  with  you,  and  let  us  leave 
this  godless  hole! 

Windrank.  No,  my  dear  fellow,  I  'm  in  my  element  now, 
so  I  think  I  '11  stay. 

Sexton.  Goodness,  the  clock  is  striking  twelve,  and  the 
ghosts  will  be  coming! 


42  MASTER  OLOF 

Windrank  {jumping  to  his  feet).  That 's  a  different  story ! 
(The  Sexton  guides  Windrank  toward  the  door  ?)\^\ste\\,  sexton 

—  I  'm  beginning  to  have  strong  doubts  about  the  trinity. 
Sexton.  Well,  I  declare ! 

Windrank.  It 's  your  trinity  I  'm  thinking  of. 

Sexton.  What  do  you  mean,  master  skipper? 

Windrank.  I  think  there  must  be  four  of  you,  after  all. 

Sexton.  Four — of  whom? 

Windrank.  How  about  the  tapster  ?  Should  n't  he  be 
counted,  too? 

Sexton.  Hush,  man!  That's  only  nights. 
{Both  stumble  over  the  broken  image  of  St.  Nicolaus  and  fall 
down?) 

Windrank.  Mercy !  Ghosts !  Jesu  Maria,  help  ! 

Sexton  (rising  and  pic  king  up  the  image).  Well,  if  that  is  n't 
enough  to  make  your  hair  stand  on  end !  Here  's  St.  Nico- 
laus broken  all  to  pieces  and  swimming  in  the  beer.  It  has 
come  to  a  fine  pass  when  divine  things  are  defiled  like  that 

—  I  don't  think  the  world  will  last  much  longer — when 
such  things  can  be  done  in  the  dry  tree — 

Windrank  (having  recovered}.  In  the  wet  one,  you  mean. 

Sexton.  Keep  still,  blasphemer !  St.  Nicolaus  is  my  patron 
saint.  I  was  born  on  his  day. 

Windrank.  That 's  probably  why  both  of  you  like  beer. 

Sexton.  Yes,  it's  in  the  fashion  now  to  be  heretical! 

Windrank.  It 's  in  the  air,  I  think,  for  otherwise  I  'm  a 
most  God-fearing  man.  But  never  mind, I  '11  have  St.  Nico- 
laus glued  together  for  you. 

Sexton  (calling  into  the  church).  Catherine! 

Windrank.  Hush,  hush,  man !  You  '11  make  the  ghosts 
appear ! 

Sexton.  A  plague  on  your  tongue!  ^Exeunt. 


ACT  SECOND  43 

SCENE  3 

The  Sacristy  of  the  Church  of  St.  Nicolaus.  There  is  a  door  lead- 
ing to  the  church,  and  another,  smaller  one,  leading  to  the 
pulpit.  The  walls  are  hung  with  chasubles  and  surplices.  Prie- 
dieus  and  a  few  small  chests  are  standing  about.  The  sunlight 
is  pouring  in  through  a  window.  The  church  bells  are  heard 
ringing.  Through  the  wall  at  the  left  can  be  heard  a  constant 
murmuring.  The  Sexton  and  his  Wife  enter,  stop  near  the  door, 
and  pray  silently. 

Sexton.  That's  enough!  Now,  Catherine  dear,  you'd  bet- 
ter hurry  up  and  do  some  dusting. 

Wife.  Oh,  there  's  no  special  occasion.  It 's  nobody  but 
that  Master  Olof  who  's  going  to  preach  to-day.  Really, 
I  can't  see  why  the  Chapter  allows  it. 

Sexton.  Because  he  's  got  permission  from  the  King,  you 
see. 

Wife.  Well,  well! 

Sexton.  And  then  he  has  had  a  sort  of  basket  built  out 
from  the  wall — nothing  but  new-fangled  tricks!  It's  all 
on  account  of  that  man  Luther. 

Wife.  I  suppose  we  '11  have  the  same  kind  of  trouble 
that  we  had  yesterday.  I  thought  they  were  going  to  pull 
the  whole  church  down. 

Sexton  (carrying  a  glass  of  water  up  to  the  pulpit}.  I  'm  sure 
the  poor  fellow  will  need  something  to  wet  his  whistle 
to-day. 

Wife.  Well,  I  should  n't  bother,  if  I  were  you. 

Sexton  (speaking  from  the  pulpit).  Catherine — here  he 
comes! 

Wife.  Goodnessgracious,andthesermonbell  hasn'trung 
yet!  Well,  I  suppose  they  won't  ring  it  for  a  fellow  like  him. 


44  MASTER  OLOF 

Enter  Olof,  looking  serious  and  solemn.  He  crosses  to  one  of  the 
prie-dieus  and  kneels  on  it.  The  Sexton  comes  down  from  the  pul- 
pit and  takes  from  the  wall  a  surplice  which  he  holds  out  to  Olof. 

Olof  (rising).  The  peace  of  the  Lord  be  with  you! 
(The  Wife  curtseys  and  leaves  the  room.  The  Sexton  holds  out 
the  vestment  again.) 

Olof.  Leave  it  hanging! 

Sexton.  Don't  you  want  any  robe? 

Olof.  No. 

Sexton.  But  it 's  always  used.  And  the  handkerchief? 

Olof.  Never  mind. 

Sexton.  Well,  I  declare  ! 

Olof.  Will  you  please  leave  me  alone,  my  friend  ? 

Sexton.  You  want  me  to  get  out?  But  as  a  rule,  I  — 

Olof.  Do  me  the  favor,  please! 

Sexton.  Oh,  well !  Of  course !  But  first  I  want  to  tell  you 
that  you  '11  find  the  missal  to  the  right  of  you  as  you  get 
up,  and  I  have  put  in  a  stick  so  you  '11  know  where  to  open 
it,  and  there  is  a  glass  of  water  beside  the  book.  And  you 
must  n't  forget  to  turn  the  hour-glass,  or  it  may  chance 
you  '11  keep  it  up  a  little  too  long — 

Olof.  Don't  worry!  There  will  be  plenty  of  people  to 
tell  me  when  to  quit. 

Sexton.  Mercy,  yes — beg  your  pardon!  But  you  see, 
we  've  got  our  own  customs  here. 

Olof.  Tell  me,  what  is  that  depressing  murmur  we  hear? 

Sexton.  It 's  some  pious  brother  saying  prayers  for  a  poor 
soul.  [Exit. 

Olof.  "Thou  therefore  gird  up  thy  loins  and  arise,  and 
speak  unto  them  all  that  I  command  thee."  —  God  help 
me !  (He  drops  on  his  knees  at  a  prie-dieu;  there  he  finds  a  note, 


ACT  SECOND  45 

which  he  reads.)  "Don't  preach  to-day;  your  life  is  in  dan- 
ger."— The  Tempter  himself  wrote  that!  (He  tears  the 
note  to  pieces?) 

Enter  Olof's  Mother. 

Mother.  You  are  straying  from  the  right  path,  my  son. 

Olof.  Who  knows  ? 

Mother.  I  know!  But  as  your  mother  I  reach  out  my 
hand  to  you.  Turn  back! 

Olof.  Where  would  you  lead  me? 

Mother.  To  godliness  and  virtue. 

Olof.  If  godliness  and  virtue  are  vested  in  papal  decrees, 
then  I  fear  it  is  too  late. 

Mother.  It  is  n't  only  a  question  of  what  you  teach,  but 
of  how  you  live. 

Olof.  I  know  you  are  thinking  of  my  company  last  night, 
but  I  am  too  proud  to  answer  you.  Nor  do  I  think  it  would 
do  any  good. 

Mother.  Oh,  that  I  should  be  thus  rewarded  for  the 
sacrifice  I  made  when  I  let  you  go  out  into  the  world  and 
study ! 

Olof.  By  heaven,  your  sacrifice  shall  not  be  wasted !  It 
is  you,  mother,  I  have  to  thank  for  this  day  when  at  last 
I  can  stand  forth  with  a  free  countenance  and  speak  the 
words  of  truth. 

Mother.  How  can  you  talk  of  truth,  you  who  have  made 
yourself  a  prophet  of  lies  ? 

Olof.  Those  are  hard  words,  mother! 

Mother.  Or  perhaps  I  and  my  forbears  have  lived  and 
worshipped  and  died  in  a  lie? 

Olof.  It  was  n't  a  lie,  but  it  has  become  one.  When  you 
were  young,  mother,  you  were  right,  and  when  I  grow  old 


46  MASTER  OLOF 

—  well,  perhaps  I  may  find  myself  in  the  wrong.  One  can- 
not keep  apace  with  the  times. 

Mother.  I  don't  understand! 

Olof.  This  is  my  one  sorrow — the  greatest  one  of  my 
life:  that  all  I  do  and  say  with  the  purest  purpose  must 
appear  to  you  a  crime  and  sacrilege. 

Mother.  I  know  what  you  mean  to  do,  Olof — I  know 
what  error  you  have  fallen  into — and  I  cannot  hope  to 
persuade  you  out  of  it,  for  you  know  so  much  more  than 
I  do,  and  I  am  sure  that  the  Lord  will  put  you  on  the 
right  path  again  —  but  I  ask  you  to  take  care  of  your  own 
life,  so  that  you  won't  plunge  headlong  into  perdition! 
Don't  risk  your  life! 

Olof.  What  do  you  mean?  They  won't  kill  me  in  the 
pulpit,  will  they  ? 

Mother.  Haven't  you  heard  that  Bishop  Brask  wants  the 
Pope  to  introduce  the  law  that  sends  all  heretics  to  the  stake? 

Olof.  The  inquisition? 

Mother.  Yes,  that 's  what  they  call  it. 

Olof.  Leave  me,  mother !  To-day  I  must  stand  up  and 
preach. 

Mother.  You  shall  not  do  so! 

Olof.  Nothing  can  prevent  me. 

Mother.  I  have  prayed  to  God  that  He  would  touch  your 
heart — I'll  tell  you,  but  you  must  n't  speak  of  it  to  any- 
body. I  am  weak  with  age,  and  I  couldn't  trust  my  own 
knees,  so  I  went  to  see  a  servant  of  the  Lord  and  asked 
him,  who  is  nearer  to  God,  to  say  some  prayers  for  your 
soul.  He  refused  because  you  are  under  the  ban.  Oh,  it 's 
dreadful!  May  the  Lord  forgive  me  my  sin!  I  bribed  the 
pure  conscience  of  that  man  with  gold — with  the  Devil's 
own  gold — just  to  save  you! 


ACT  SECOND  47 

Olof.  Mother,  what  do  I  hear?  It  can't  be  possible! 

Mother  (takes  Olof  by  the  hand  and  leads  him  over  to  the 
left,  close  to  the  wall).  Listen!  Do  you  hear?  He  is  pray- 
ing for  you  now  in  the  chapel  next  to  this  room. 

Olof.  So  that  was  the  murmur  I  heard!  Who  is  he? 

Mother.  You  know  him  —  Brother  Marten,  of  the  Do- 
minicans— 

Olof.  You  get  Satan  to  say  prayers  for  me!  —  Forgive 
me,  mother — I  thank  you  for  your  good  intention,  but — 

Mother  (on  her  knees,  weeping).  Olof!  Olof! 

Olof.  Don't  ask  me!  A  mother's  plea  might  tempt  the 
angels  of  heaven  to  recant!  —  Now  the  hymn  is  ended:  I 
must  go!  The  people  are  waiting. 

Mother.  You'll  send  me  into  my  grave,  Olof! 

Olof  (passionately).  The  Lord  will  resurrect  you!  (Kiss- 
ing her  hand?)  Don't  talk  to  me  any  more  —  I  don't  know 
what  I  am  saying! 

Mother.  Listen!  Listen!  The  people  are  muttering! 

Olof.  I'm    coming!   I'm  coming!  He  who  protected 
Daniel  in  the  lions'  den  will  also  protect  me! 
(Olof  ascends  the  stairs  leading  to  the  pulpit.  Throughout  the 
ensuing  scenes  a  man's  voice  can  be  heard  speaking  with  great 
power,  but  no  words  can  be  distinguished.  After  a  while  mut- 
terings  are  heard,  which  change  into  loud  cries.) 
Enter  Christine. 

Christine.  Mother,  did  you  see  him  ? 

Mother.  Are  you  here,  child?  I  asked  you  to  stay  at 
home! 

Christine.  Why  should  n't  I  visit  the  house  of  the  Lord  ? 
There  is  something  you  hide  from  me! 

Mother.  Go  home,  Christine ! 


48  MASTER  OLOF 

Christine.  May  I  not  hear  Olof  preach?  It's  the  word 
of  God,  is  n't  it,  mother?  (The  Mother  remains  silent.}  You 
don't  answer?  What  does  it  mean  ?  Has  n't  Olof  permis- 
sion to  preach  ?  Why  do  the  people  out  there  look  so  mys- 
terious? They  were  muttering  when  I  came. 

Mother.  Don't  ask  me!  Go  home  and  thank  God  for 
your  ignorance! 

Christine.  Am  I  a  child,  then,  since  nobody  dares  to  tell 
me — 

Mother.  Your  soul  is  still  pure,  and  nobody  must  defile 
it.  What  place  is  there  for  you  in  the  battle? 

Christine.  Battle?  I  thought  so! 

Mother.  Yes,  here  the  battle  rages,  and  so  you  must  get 
out  of  the  way.  You  know  our  lot  when  the  men  go  to  war. 

Christine.  But  let  me  first  know  what  it  is  all  about. 
Not  to  know  anything  at  all  makes  me  so  unhappy.  I  see 
nothing  but  a  dreadful  darkness,  and  shadows  that  are 
moving  about — Give  me  light,  so  that  I  may  see  clearly! 
Perhaps  I  know  these  ghostly  shadows? 

Mother.  You  will  shudder  when  you  see  who  they  are. 

Christine.  It  is  better  to  shudder  than  to  be  tormented 
by  this  horrible  calm. 

Mother.  Don't  pray  for  the  cloud  to  flash  forth  light- 
ning: it  may  destroy  you! 

Christine.  You  frighten  me!  But  tell  me  the  truth — I 
must  know — or  I  shall  ask  some  one  else. 

Mother.  Are  you  firm  in  your  decision  to  withdraw  within 
the  sacred  walls  of  the  convent  ? 

Christine.  My  father  wishes  it. 

Mother.  You  hesitate?  (Christine  does  not  answer.}  There 
is  some  tie  that  holds  you  back. 

Christine.  You  know? 


ACT  SECOND  49 

Mother.  I  know,  and  tell  you  to  break  it ! 

Christine.  It  will  soon  be  impossible. 

Mother.  I  will  save  you,  child,  for  you  can  still  be  saved. 
I  will  offer  the  Lord  the  greatest  sacrifice  of  alljf  a  single 
soul  can  be  saved  from  perdition — my  son! 

Christine.  Olof? 

Mother.  He  's  lost,  I  tell  you,  and  I,  his  mother,  have 
to  tell  you  so! 

Christine.  Lost? 

Mother.  He  is  a  prophet  of  lies.  The  Devil  has  taken 
possession  of  his  soul. 

Christine  (passionately}.  It  isn't  true! 

Mother.  God  grant  that  you  are  right! 

Christine.  Why — why  have  n't  you  told  me  this  before? 

—  But,  of  course,  it 's  a  lie !   (She  goes  to  the  door  leading 
into  the  church  and  pushes  it  ajar.)  Look  at  him,  mother — 
there  he  is!  Can  that  be  an  evil  spirit  speaking  out  of  his 
mouth?  Can  that  be  a  hellish  flame  burning  in  his  eyes? 
Can  lies  be  told  with  trembling  lips  ?  Does  darkness  shed 
light — can't  you  see  the  halo  about  his  head?  You  are 
wrong !  I  feel  it  within  me !  I  don't  know  what  he  preaches 

—  I  don't  know  what  he  denies — but  he  is  right!  He  is 
right,  and  the  Lord  is  with  him! 

Mother.  You  don't  know  the  world,  my  child.  You  don't 
know  the  tricks  of  the  Devil.  Beware!  (She  pulls  Christine 
away  from  the  door.}  You  must  n't  listen  to  him.  There  is 
no  strength  in  your  soul,  and  he  's  the  apostle  of  Anti- 
christ! 

Christine.  Who  is  Antichrist? 

Mother.  He  is  a  Luther! 

Christine.  You  have  never  told  me  who  Luther  is,  but 
if  Olof  is  his  apostle,  then  Luther  must  be  a  great  man. 


50  MASTER  OLOF 

Mother.  Luther  is  possessed  of  the  Devil.! 

Christine.  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  before  ?  Now  I  can't 
believe  you! 

Mother.  I  am  telling  you  now — Alas,  I  wanted  to  save 
you  from  the  world's  wickedness,  and  so  I  kept  you  in  ig- 
norance— 

Christine.  I  don't  believe  you!  Let  me  go!  I  must  see 
him  —  I  must  listen  to  him — for  he  does  n't  talk  like  the 
rest. 

Mother.  Jesus,  my  Saviour!  Are  you,  too,  possessed  by 
the  unclean  spirit? 

Christine  (at  the  door).  "Bind  not  the  souls,"  he  said  — 
did  you  hear  ?  "  You  are  free,  for  the  Lord  has  set  you  free." 
See  how  the  people  shudder  at  his  words — now  they  rise 
up — they  mutter.  "You  want  no  freedom — woe  unto 
you!  For  that  is  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost!" 
Enter  Sexton. 

Sexton.  I  don't  think  it 's  well  for  you  to  stay  here  any 
longer,  my  good  ladies.  The  people  are  getting  restless. 
This  will  never  end  well  for  Master  Olof. 

Mother.  Jesu  Maria!  What  are  you  saying? 

Christine.  Fear  not !  The  spirit  of  the  Lord  is  with  him ! 

Sexton.  Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,  but  he  's  a  won- 
der at  preaching.  Old  sinner  that  I  am,  I  could  n't  keep 
from  crying  where  I  was  sitting  in  the  organ-loft.  I  don't 
understand  how  it  can  be  possible  for  a  heretic  and  an 
Antichrist  to  talk  like  that.  That  man  Luther,  I  must  say,  I — 
(Cries  are  heard  from  the  church?)  There,  there!  Now  some- 
thing dreadful  is  going  to  happen  again !  And  to  think  that 
the  King  should  be  gone  just  now! 

Mother.  Let  us  get  away  from  here.  If  the  Lord  is  with 


ACT  SECOND  51 

him,  they  can  do  him  no  harm.  If  it  be  the  Devil — then 
Thy  will  be  done,  O  Lord — but  forgive  him! 
(  Cries  are  heard  outside.  Exeunt  the  Mother,  Christine,  and  the 
Sexton.  For  a  few  moments  the  stage  stands  empty  and  Olof  s 
voice  is  heard  more  clearly  than  before.  It  is  interrupted  by 
cries  and  the  rattling  of  stones  thrown  at  the  pulpit.  Christine 
returns  alone,  locks  the  door  on  the  inside,  and  falls  on  her  knees 
at  a  prie-dieu.  A  number  of  violent  blows  are  directed  against 
the  door  from  without,  while  the  tumult  in  the  church  contin- 
ues to  increase.  Then  silence  is  restored,  as  Olof  descends  from 
the  pulpit.  His  forehead  is  bleeding  and  he  wears  a  haggard 
look.) 

Olof  (dropping  into  a  chair  without  perceiving  Christine). 
In  vain!  They  will  not!  I  take  the  fetters  from  the  pris- 
oner, and  he  hits  me.  I  tell  him  he  is  free,  and  he  does  n't 
believe  me.  Is  that  word  "free"  so  big,  then,  that  it  can't 
be  contained  in  a  human  brain?  Oh,  that  I  had  one  at 
least  who  believed — but  to  be  alone — a  fool  whom  no  one 
understands  — 

Christine  (coming forward}.  I  believe  in  you,  Olof! 
Olof.  Christine! 
Christine.  You  are  right! 
Olof.  How  do  you  know? 

Christine.  I  can't  tell,  but  I  believe  it.  I  have  been  listen- 
ing to  you. 

Olof.  And  you  do  not  curse  me? 

Christine.  You  are  preaching  the  word  of  God,  are  you 
not? 

Olof.  I  am! 

Christine.  Why  have  we  not  been  told  these  things  be- 
fore ?  Or  why  have  they  been  told  us  in  a  language  that  we 
do  not  understand? 


52  MASTER  OLOF 

Olof.  Who  has  put  those  words  into  your  mouth,  girl  ? 

Christine.  Who  ?  I  have  n't  thought  of  asking. 

Olof.  Your  father? 

Christine.  He  wants  me  to  enter  a  convent. 

Olof.  Has  it  come  to  that  ?  And  what  is  your  own  wish  ? 

Christine  (catching  sight  of  Olof  s  bleeding  forehead).  They 
have  hurt  you,  Olof!  For  heaven's  sake,  let  me  help 
you! 

Olof  (sitting  down  again).  Have  I  unsettled  your  faith, 
Christine  ? 

Christine  (takes  the  handkerchief,  tears  it  into  strips,  and 
begins  to  dress  Olof  s  wounds  while  speaking).  My  faith?  I 
don't  understand  you. — Tell  me,  who  is  Luther? 

Olof.  I  must  n't  tell  you. 

Christine.  Always  the  same  answer!  From  my  father, 
from  your  mother,  and  from  yourself.  Are  you  timid  about 
telling  me  the  truth,  or  is  the  truth  really  dangerous? 

Olof.  Truth  is  dangerous.  Can't  you  see  ?  (He  points  to 
his  forehead?) 

Christine.  So  you  want  me  to  be  shut  up  in  a  convent 
cell  to  live  a  lifeless  life  in  ignorance?  (Olof  does  not  reply?) 
You  want  me  to  weep  away  my  life  and  my  youth,  and  to 
keep  on  saying  those  endlessly  long  prayers  until  my  soul 
is  put  to  sleep?  No — I  won't  do  it,  for  now  I  am  awake. 
All  around  me  they  are  fighting,  and  suffering,  and  despair- 
ing. I  have  seen  it,  but  I  was  to  have  no  share  in  it.  I  was 
not  even  to  look  on,  or  to  know  the  purpose  of  the  fighting. 
You  wanted  me  to  be  sunk  in  bestial  slumber.  But  don't 
you  believe  me  possessed  of  a  soul,  then — a  soul  that  can- 
not be  satisfied  by  bread  or  by  dry  prayers  put  into  my 
mouth  by  others?  "Bind  not  the  spirits,"  you  said.  Oh,  if 
you  could  only  know  how  that  word  pierced  me !  Daylight 


ACT  SECOND  53 

came,  and  those  wild  cries  out  there  sounded  like  the  sing- 
ing of  birds  in  the  morning — 

Olof.  You  are  a  woman,  Christine,  and  not  born  to 
fight! 

Christine.  But  in  the  name  of  God,  let  me  suffer,  then ! 
Only  not  be  asleep !  Don't  you  see  that  the  Lord  has  awak- 
ened me  in  spite  of  all  ?  You  have  never  dared  to  tell  me 
who  Antichrist  was.  You  have  never  dared  to  tell  me  who 
Luther  was,  and  when  your  mother  called  you  a  Luther, 
I  blessed  Luther.  If  he  be  a  heretic  or  a  believer,  I  don't 
know,  and  I  don't  care;  for  no  one — whether  it  be  Luther, 
or  the  Pope,  or  Antichrist — can  satisfy  my  immortal  soul 
when  I  have  no  faith  in  the  eternal  God. 

Olof.  Will  you  follow  me  into  the  battle,  Christine?  For 
you  can  sustain  me,  and  you  only ! 

Christine.  Now  I  am  able  to  answer  you  with  a  frank 
"yes,"  for  I  know  my  own  will — and  I  can  do  so  with- 
out asking  father  first,  for  I  am  free.  Oh,  I  am  free ! 

Olof.  And  do  you  know  what  is  in  store  for  you  ? 

Christine.  I  know!  You  will  not  have  to  shatter  my 
mocking  dreams — they  are  already  gone.  But  you  may  be 
sure  that  I,  too,  have  been  dreaming  of  a  knight  who  was 
to  lay  a  kingdom  at  my  feet  and  talk  to  me  of  flowers 
and  love — Olof,  I  want  to  be  your  wife!  Here  is  my 
hand !  But  this  much  I  must  tell  you :  that  you  never  have 
been  the  knight  of  my  dreams,  and  that  I  thank  God  he 
never  came.  For  then  he  had  also  gone — as  a  dream. 

Olof.  Christine,  you  want  to  be  mine — and  I  will  make 
you  happy.  For  when  I  suffered  sorrow  and  temptation, 
you  were  always  in  my  mind — and  now  you  shall  be  at  my 
side !  You  were  the  maiden  of  my  dreams,  kept  captive  in 
a  tower  by  the  stern  castellan  —  and  now  you  are  mine! 


54  MASTER  OLOF 

Christine.  Beware  of  dreams,  Olof ! 
(Blows  are  heard  on  the  door  from  outside?) 

Olof.  Who  is  that? 

Voice  (outside).  Gert. 

Olof.  What  will  he  say?  My  promise — 

Christine.  Are  you  afraid?  Shall  I  open? 
(Olof  opens  the  door?) 

Enter  Gert. 

Gert  (starting  at  the  sight  of  his  daughter  and  Olof).  Chris- 
tine?— You  have  broken  your  promise,  Olof! 

Olof.  I  have  not. 

Gert.  You  lie!  You  have  stolen  my  child,  my  one  solace. 

Christine.  Olof  is  not  lying. 

Gert.  You  have  been  to  church,  Christine  ? 

Christine.  I  have  heard  what  you  didn't  want  me  to  hear. 

Gert.  O  Lord,  this  only  joy  Thou  hast  begrudged  me! 

Olof.  The  stream  that  you  wanted  to  set  free  takes  its 
victims  where  it  can. 

Gert.  You  have  robbed  me  of  her,  of  my  child ! 

Olof.  Give  her  to  me,  Father  Gert ! 

Gert.  Never! 

Olof.  Is  she  not  free? 

Gert.  She  is  my  child. 

Olof.  Are  you  not  preaching  freedom  ?  She  is  mine !  The 
Lord  has  given  her  to  me,  and  you  cannot  take  her  away. 

Gert.  You  are — thank  God! — a  priest. 

Olof  and  Christine.  A  priest! 

Gert.  And  as  such  you  cannot  marry. 

Olof.  And  if  I  do? 

Gert.  You  would  dare? 

Olof.  I  would. 


ACT  SECOND  55 

Gert.  Do  you  want  a  man  who  is  under  the  ban,  Chris- 
tine ? 

Christine.  I  don't  know  what  that  means. 

Olof.  There  you  see,  Gert,  there  you  see! 

Gert.  Thy  punishment  is  harsh,  O  Lord! 

Olof.  The  truth  is  for  all. 

Gert.  Your  love  is  greater  than  mine,  which  was  nothing 
but  selfishness.  God  bless  you!  Now  I  stand  alone!  (He 
embraces  them.)  There,  now !  Go  home,  Christine,  and  set 
their  minds  at  rest.  I  want  to  speak  to  Olof.  (Exit  Chris- 
tine.) Now  you  belong  to  me. 

Olof.  What  do  you  mean? 

Gert.  Kinsman! — You  got  my  letter? 

Olof.  It  was  you  who  advised  me  not  to  preach? 

Gert.  Quite  the  contrary,  although  I  expressed  myself 
somewhat  strangely. 

Olof.  I  don't  understand. 

Gert.  No — no!  You  are  still  too  young,  and  so  you 
need  a  providence.  To  a  man  like  you  one  says  "Let  be" 
when  one  wants  him  to  do  something. 

Olof.  Why  were  you  and  your  followers  not  in  church  ? 

Gert.  None  but  the  sick  need  doctors.  We  were  busy 
elsewhere.  You  have  done  a  good  piece  of  work  to-day, 
and  I  see  that  you  have  got  your  reward  for  it.  I  have  set 
you  free  to-day,  Olof. 

Ohf.  You  have? 

Gert.  The  King  commanded  you  to  quiet  the  rebellious, 
and  what  have  you  been  doing? 

Olof.  Now  I  begin  to  understand  you,  Father  Gert. 

Gert.  I  am  delighted!  Yes, you  have  aroused  even  the 
calmest. 

Olof.  So  I  have. 


56  MASTER  OLOF 

Gert.  What  do  you  think  the  King  will  say  to  that? 

Olof.  I  shall  have  to  face  it. 

Gert.  Good! 

Olof.  The  King  will  approve  my  actions,  for  he  wants 
a  reformation,  although  he  does  not  yet  dare  to  start  one 
himself. 

Gert.  You  idiot! 

Olof.  I  see  that  you  want  to  set  me  against  my  lawful 
sovereign. 

Gert.  Tell  me,  how  many  masters  do  you  think  you  can 
serve?  (Olof  makes  no  reply?)  The  King  is  here. 

Olof.  What  do  you  say? 

Gert.  The  King  has  just  returned. 

Olof.  And  the  Anabaptists? 

Gert.  Locked  up,  of  course. 

Olof.  And  you  stand  here  so  calmly? 

Gert.  I  am  old  now.  Once  I  used  to  rage  like  you,  but  it 
only  tired  me  out.  Rink  and  Knipperdollink  have  served  as 
my  outposts.  They  had  to  fall,  that 's  plain;  now  my  work 
begins. 
(Drum-beats  are  heard  from  the  street?) 

Olof.  What  is  that? 

Gert.  The  royal  drums  that  keep  the  captives  company 
to  prison.  Come  here  and  see! 

Olof  (mounting  one  of  the  benches  and  looking  out  of  the 
window}.  What  do  I  see  ?  Women  and  children  are  dragged 
along  by  the  soldiers! 

Gert.  Well,  they  have  been  throwing  stones  at  the  King's 
guard.  Do  you  think  such  things  can  be  allowed? 

Olof.  But  are  madmen  and  sick  people  to  be  put  into 
prison  ? 

Gert.  There  are  two  kinds  of  madmen.  One  kind  is 


ACT  SECOND  57 

sent  to  the  hospital  and  treated  with  pills  and  cold  baths. 
Those  of  the  other  kind  have  their  heads  cut  off.  It  is  a 
radical  treatment,  but  then,  for  a  fact,  they  are  rather  dan- 
gerous. 

Olof.  I  '11  go  to  the  King.  He  cannot  wish  such  dread- 
ful things  to  happen. 

Gert.  Take  care  of  your  head,  Olof! 

Olof.  Take  care  of  your  own,  Father  Gert! 

Gert.  No  danger  in  my  case,  for  I  have  a  warrant  for 
the  asylum. 

Olof.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  these  things.  I  am  going  to 
the  King,  even  if  it  cost  my  life.  (He  goes  toward  the  door.) 

Gert.  This  is  a  matter  not  to  be  settled  by  the  King. 
You  should  appeal  to  the  law. 

Olof.  The  King  is  the  law! 

Gert.  Unfortunately!  —  If  the  horse  knew  his  own 
strength,  he  would  never  be  mad  enough,  as  he  is  now,  to 
bear  the  yoke.  But  when  once  in  a  while  he  gets  his  reason 
back  and  runs  away  from  his  oppressors,  then  they  call  him 
mad — Let  us  pray  the  Lord  to  give  these  poor  creatures 
their  reason  back! 


ACT  III 

SCENE  i 

A  Hall  in  the  Royal  Palace  at  Stockholm.  In  the  background  is 
a  gallery  which  can  be  partitioned  off  by  curtains.  An  elderly 
servant  of  the  palace  is  pacing  back  and  forth  in  the  gallery. 

Enter  Olof. 
Olof.  Is  the  King  receiving  to-day? 

Servant.  Yes. 

Olof.  Can  you  tell  me  why  I  have  been  kept  waiting 
here  in  vain  four  days  at  a  stretch? 

Servant.  No,  heavens,  I  know  nothing  at  all. 

Olof.  It  seems  strange  that  I  have  not  been  admitted. 

Servant.  What  is  it  about? 

Olof.  That's  none  of  your  concern! 

Servant.  Of  course  not!  I  understand  that,  but  I  thought 
I  might  be  able  to  give  some  information,  perhaps. 

Olof.  Have  you  charge  of  the  King's  audiences  ? 

Servant.  Oh,  heavens,  no!  But  you  see,  when  a  man 
hears  as  much  as  I  do,  he  knows  a  little  of  everything. 
(Pause.) 

Olof.  Do  you  think  I  shall  have  to  wait  long?  (The ser- 
vant pretends  not  to  hear.)  Do  you  know  if  the  King  is  com- 
ing soon? 

Servant  (with  his  back  turned  to  Olof).  What? 

Olof.  Do  you  know  to  whom  you  are  talking? 

Servant.  No,  I  don't. 

Olof.  I  am  the  King's  Secretary. 

Servant.  Oh,  mercy,  are  you  Master  Olof?  I  knew  your 
father,  Peter  the  Smith,  for  I  am  also  from  Orebro. 

Olof.  Well,  can't  you  be  civil  in  spite  of  that  ? 


ACT  THIRD  59 

Servant.  Well,  well !  That 's  what  happens  when  one 
gets  on  a  little  in  this  world — then  one's  humble  parents 
are  forgotten. 

Olof.  It  is  possible  that  my  father  actually  honored  you 
with  his  acquaintance,  but  I  doubt  that  he  put  you  in  a 
parent's  place  to  me  when  he  died. 

Servant.  Well,  well !  I  declare!  It  must  be  hard  on  Dame 
Christine!  [Exit  to  the  left. 

Olof  is  left  alone  for  a  while.  Then  Lars  Siggesson,  the  Lord 
High  Constable,  enters  from  the  right. 

Constable  (throwing  his  cloak  to  Olof  without  looking  at 
him).  Will  the  King  be  here  soon? 

Olof  (catching  the  cloak  and  throwing  it  on  the  floor).  I  do 
not  know! 

Constable.  Bring  me  a  chair. 

Olof.  That 's  not  my  office. 

Constable.  I  am  not  familiar  with  the  instructions  of  the 
doorkeeper. 

Olof.  I  am  no  doorkeeper! 

Constable.  I  don't  care  what  you  are,  and  I  don't  carry 
with  me  a  list  of  the  menials,  but  you  will  have  to  be 
civil!  (Olof  remains  silent?)  Well,  what  about  it?  I  think 
the  Devil  has  got  into  you! 

Olof.  Pardon  me,  but  it  is  no  part  of  my  duty  as  sec- 
retary to  wait  on  anybody. 

Constable.  What?  Oh,  Master  Olof!  Why,  first  you  sit 
at  the  door  playing  lackey,  and  then  you  drop  the  mask 
and  step  forth  as  the  Lord  Himself!  And  I  took  you  to 
be  a  proud  man.  (He  picks  up  his  cloak  and  places  it  on  a 
bench?) 

Olof.  My  Lord  Constable ! 


60  MASTER  OLOF 

Constable.  But,  no,  you  are  only  a  vain  upstart !  Please 
step  forward  and  be  seated,  Mr.  Secretary. 

[He  points  Olof  to  a  seat  and  goes  out  into  one  of  the 
side-rooms. 

Olof  sits  down.  A  young  Courtier  enters  through  the  gallery  and 
salutes  Olof. 

Courtier.  Good  morning,  Secretary !  Is  nobody  here  yet  ? 
Well,  how  is  everything  in  Stockholm?  I  have  just  arrived 
from  Malmo. 

Olof.  Oh,  everything  is  going  wrong  here. 

Courtier.  So  I  have  heard.  The  mob  has  been  muttering 
as  usual  whenever  the  King's  back  is  turned.  And  then 
there  are  those  fool  priests!  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  Secre- 
tary, but,  of  course,  you  are  a  freethinker? 

Olof.  I  don't  quite  understand. 

Courtier.  Don't  mind  me,  please.  You  see,  I  have  been 
educated  in  Paris.  Francis  the  First — O  Saint- Sauveur!  — 
that's  a  man  who  has  extreme  views.  Do  you  know  what 
he  told  me  at  a  bal  masque  during  the  last  carnival?  (Olof 
remains  silent.}  "  Monsieur"  he  said,  "la  religion  est  morte, 
est  morte"  he  said.  Which  did  n't  keep  him  from  attend- 
ing mass. 

Olof.  Is  that  so? 

Courtier.  Do  you  know  what  he  replied  when  I  asked 
him  why  he  did  so  ?  —  "  Poetry !  Poetry ! "  he  said.  Oh,  he  is 
divine ! 

Olof.  What  did  you  answer? 

Courtier.  "Your  Majesty,"!  said — in  French,  of  course 
— "fortunate  the  land  that  has  a  king  who  can  look  so  far 
beyond  the  narrow  horizon  of  his  own  time  that  he  per- 
ceives what  the  spirit  of  the  age  demands,  without  trying 


ACT  THIRD  61 

to  urge  the  masses  to  embrace  that  higher  view  of  life  for 
which  they  will  not  be  ready  for  many  centuries  to  come ! " 
Wasn't  that  pretty  clever? 

Olof.  Oh,  yes,  but  I  think  it  must  have  lost  a  great  deal 
in  being  translated.  Things  of  that  kind  should  be  spoken 
in  French. 

Courtier  (preoccupied}.  You  are  quite  right.  —  Tell  me — 
your  fortune  ought  to  be  assured — you  are  so  far  in  ad- 
vance of  your  time? 

Olof.  I  fear  I  shall  not  get  very  far.  My  education  was 
neglected,  unfortunately — I  studied  in  Germany,  as  you 
may  know — and  the  Germans  are  not  beyond  religion 
yet. 

Courtier.  Indeed,  indeed!  Can  you  tell  me  why  they  are 
making  such  a  hubbub  about  that  Reformation  down  there 
in  Germany?  Luther  is  a  man  of  enlightenment  —  I  know 
it — I  believe  it — but  why  shouldn't  he  keep  it  to  him- 
self, or  at  least  not  waste  any  sparks  of  light  on  the  brut- 
ish herd  to  which  they  can  be  nothing  but  so  many  pearls 
thrown  to  the  swine.  If  you  let  your  eye  survey  the  time 
we  are  living  in — if  you  make  some  effort  to  follow  the 
great  currents  of  thought — then  you  will  easily  perceive 
the  cause  of  that  disturbed  equilibrium  which  is  now 
making  itself  felt  in  all  the  great  civilized  countries;  I  am 
not  talking  of  Sweden,  of  course,  which  is  not  a  civilized 
country.  Can  you  name  the  centre  of  gravity — that  cen- 
tre which  cannot  be  disturbed  without  everything  going  to 
pieces — the  instability  of  which  tends  to  upset  everything? 
The  name  of  it  is — the  nobility.  The  nobility  is  the  think- 
ing principle.  The  feudal  system  is  falling — and  that  means 
the  world.  Erudition  is  in  decay.  Civilization  is  dying.  Yes, 
indeed — You  don't  believe  that?  But  if  you  have  any  his- 


62  MASTER  OLOF 

torical  outlook  at  all,  you  can  see  that  it  is  so.  The  nobil- 
ity started  the  Crusades.  The  nobility  has  done  this  and 
that  and  everything.  Why  is  Germany  being  torn  to  pieces  ? 
Because  the  peasantry  has  risen  against  the  nobility,  thus 
cutting  off  its  own  head.  Why  is  France  safe — la  France? 
Because  France  is  one  with  the  nobility,  and  the  nobility 
is  one  with  France — because  those  two  ideas  are  identi- 
cal, inseparable.  And  why,  I  ask  again,  is  Sweden  at  pres- 
ent shaken  to  its  nethermost  foundations  ?  Because  the  no- 
bility has  been  crushed.  Christian  the  Second  was  a  man 
of  genius.  He  knew  how  to  conquer  a  country.  He  did  n't 
cut  off  a  leg  or  an  arm — nay,  he  cut  off  the  head.  Well, 
then!  Sweden  must  be  saved,  and  the  King  knows  how. 
The  nobility  is  to  be  restored,  and  the  Church  is  to  be 
crushed.  What  do  you  say  to  that? 

Olof  (rising).  Nothing!  (Pause?)  You  are  a  freethinker? 

Courtier.  Of  course! 

Olof.  You  don't  believe,  then,  that  Balaam's  ass  could 
talk? 

Courtier.  Gracious,  no ! 

Olof.  But  I  do. 

Courtier.  Really? 

Enter  Lars  Anders  son. 

Lars  Andersson.  The  peace  of  the  Lord  be  with  you, 
Olof. 

Olof  (embracing  him).  Well  met,  Lars ! 

Courtier.  Populace!  \Exit. 

Lars.  Well,  how  do  you  like  living  here? 

Olof.  It's  so  close! 

Lars.  Somewhat! 

Olof.  And  no  room  overhead. 


ACT  THIRD  63 

Lars.  That 's  why  they  find  it  so  hard  to  keep  their 
backs  straight. 

Olof.  In  ten  minutes  I  have  become  so  much  of  a  cour- 
tier that  I  know  how  to  be  silent  when  an  ass  is  talking. 

Lars.  There  is  no  harm  in  that. 

Olof.  What  does  the  King  think? 

Lars.  He  does  n't  tell. 
(A  number  of  people  have  begun  to  gather  in  the  hall?) 

Olof.  How  does  he  look? 

Lars.  Like  an  interrogation  point  followed  by  several 
exclamation  marks. 

Enter  Bishop  Brask.  All  give  way  before  him.  The  Lord 
High  Constable,  vjho  has  returned  in  the  meantime,  goes  to  meet 
him  and  exchanges  greetings  with  him.  Olof  salutes  the  Bishop, 
who  looks  surprised. 

Brask  (to  the  Constable).  Is  this  a  place  for  the  clerks? 

Constable.  It  ought  not  to  be,  but  our  King  is  so  very 
gracious. 

Brask.  Condescending, you  mean? 

Constable.  Exactly. 

Brask.  The  audience  is  well  attended  to-day. 

Constable.  Mostly  formal  calls  occasioned  by  the  happy 
return  of  His  Highness. 

Brask.  It  is  a  pleasure,  my  Lord  Constable,  to  offer  His 
Highness  our  sincere  felicitations  on  the  happy  solution 
of  this  question. 

Constable.  It  is  indeed  courteous  in  Your  Grace  to  incur 
the  trouble  of  such  a  long  journey — especially  at  Your 
Grace's  advanced  age. 

Brask.  Unfortunately,  my  health  is  not  always  to  be  de- 
pended upon. 


64  MASTER  OLOF 

Constable.  Is  Your  Grace  not  enjoying  good  health?  It 
is  hard  to  feel  one's  strength  failing,  particularly  for  one 
who  occupies  such  an  exalted  and  responsible  position. 

Brask.  You  look  very  well,  my  Lord  Constable. 

Constable.  Yes,  thank  God !  (Pause.} 

Brask  (seating  himself}.  Don't  you  think  there  is  a  draught 
here,  my  Lord  ? 

Constable.  It  seems  so.  Perhaps  we  might  order  the  doors 
to  be  closed? 

Brask.  No,  thank  you,  that  will  not  be  necessary. 
(Pause.} 

Constable.  The  King  is  long  in  coming. 

Brask.  Yes. 

Constable.  Perhaps  you  won't  find  it  worth  your  while  to 
wait  for  him. 

Brask.  Perhaps  not! 

Constable.  With  your  permission,  I  will  send  word  to 
Your  Grace's  servants. 

Brask.  As  I  have  waited  so  long,  I  think  I  shall  wait  a 
little  longer.  (Pause.} 

Servant.  His  Highness! 

Enter  Gustaf. 

Gustaf.  I  bid  you  welcome,  gentlemen.  (He  takes  a  seat 
at  a  table.}  If  you  will  please  step  out  into  the  antecham- 
ber, I  will  receive  you  one  at  a  time.  (All  retire  except 
Bishop  Brask.}  Our  Lord  Constable  will  stay. 

Brask.  Your  Highness! 

Gustaf  (raising  his  voice}.  Sir  Lars!  (Brask  goes  out,  the 
Constable  remaining;  pause.}  Speak!  What  am  I  to  do? 

Constable.  Your  Highness,  the  State  has  lost  its  prop, 
and  therefore  it  is  toppling  over;  the  State  has  an  enemy 


ACT  THIRD  65 

that  has  grown  too  strong  for  it.  Restore  the  prop,  which  is 
the  nobility,  and  crush  the  enemy,  which  is  the  Church! 

Gustaf.  I  dare  not! 

Constable.  You  must,  Your  Highness ! 

Gustaf.  What's  that? 

Constable.  First  of  all :  Brask  is  in  correspondence  with 
the  Pope  to  have  the  inquisition  established  here.  Liibeck 
is  insisting  on  her  shameless  demands  and  threatens  war. 
The  treasury  is  empty.  There  is  rebellion  in  every  nook 
and  corner  of  the  country  — 

Gustaf.  That  's  enough!  But  I  have  the  people  with  me. 

Constable.  I  beg  your  pardon — you  have  not.  There  are 
the  Dalecarlians,  for  instance — a  spoiled  lot,  always  dis- 
puting with  those  of  Liibeck  about  the  honor  of  having 
bestowed  a  king  on  Sweden.  They  are  ready  to  rebel  on 
the  slightest  occasion,  and  they  are  coming  forward  with 
demands  like  these:  "There  shall  be  no  outlandish  cus- 
toms used,  with  slittered  and  motley  colored  clothes,  such 
as  have  of  late  been  brought  into  the  King's  court." 

Gustaf.  'Sdeath! 

Constable.  "Whosoever  eats  meat  on  Fridays  or  Satur- 
days shall  be  burned  at  the  stake  or  otherwise  made  away 
with."  And  furthermore,  "There  shall  be  no  new  faith  or 
Lutheran  teachings  foisted  upon  us."  What  a  treacherous, 
impudent  people! 

Gustaf.  And  yet  there  was  a  time  when  they  showed 
themselves  to  be  men. 

Constable.  Well,  what  wonder  if  they  carried  water  when 
their  house  was  afire  ?  How  many  times  have  they  broken 
troth  and  faith?  But  they  have  so  often  heard  themselves 
lauded  that  they  have  come  to  give  the  name  of"  old  Swed- 
ish honesty"  to  their  own  brute  arrogance. 


66  MASTER  OLOF 

Gustaf.  You  belong  to  the  nobility! 

Constable.  Yes,  and  it  is  my  conviction  that  the  peasant 
has  played  out  his  part — the  part  of  a  crude  force  needed 
to  drive  away  the  enemy  by  sheer  strength  of  arm.  Crush 
the  Church,  Your  Highness,  for  it  is  keeping  the  people 
in  fetters.  Seize  the  gold  of  the  Church  and  pay  the  coun- 
try's debt — and  give  back  to  the  reduced  nobility  what  the 
Church  has  obtained  from  it  by  dupery. 
'  Gustaf.  Call  in  Brask. 

Constable.  Your  Highness! 

Gustaf.  Call  Bishop  Brask!  [Exit  the  Constable. 

Enter  Bishop  Brask. 

Gustaf.  Speak,  Your  Grace! 

Brask.  I  wish  to  offer  our  congratulations  on  — 

Gustaf.  I  thank  Your  Grace!  And  what  more? 

Brask.  There  have  been  complaints  from  several  dis- 
tricts, I  am  sorry  to  say,  about  unpaid  loans  of  silver  ex- 
acted from  the  churches  by  Your  Highness. 

Gustaf.  Which  you  now  are  trying  to  recover.  Are  all 
the  chalices  actually  needed  for  communion? 

Brask.  They  are. 

Gustaf.  Let  them  use  pewter  mugs,  then. 

Brask.  Your  Highness! 

Gustaf.  Anything  more  ? ' 

Brask.  What  is  worse  than  anything  else — all  this 
heresy ! 

Gustaf.  No  concern  of  mine!  I  am  not  the  Pope. 

Brask.  I  have  to  warn  Your  Highness  that  the  Church 
must  look  out  for  her  own  rights,  even  if  doing  so  should 
bring  her  into  conflict — 

Gustaf.  With  whom? 


ACT  THIRD  67 

Brask.  With  the  State. 

Gustaf.  Your  Church  can  go  to  the  devil !  There,  I  have 
said  it! 

Brask.  I  knew  it. 

Gustaf.  And  you  were  only  waiting  for  me  to  say  so? 

Brask.  Exactly. 

Gustaf.  Take  care!  You  travel  with  a  following  of  two 
hundred  men,  and  you  eat  from  silver,  when  the  people  are 
living  on  bark. 

Brask.  Your  Highness  takes  too  narrow  a  view  of  the 
matter. 

Gustaf.  Have  you  heard  of  Luther?  You  are  a  well-in- 
formed man.  What  kind  of  a  phenomenon  is  he?  What 
have  you  to  say  of  the  movements  that  are  now  spreading 
throughout  Europe? 

Brask.  Progress  backward!  Luther  is  merely  destined  to 
serve  as  a  purging  fire  for  what  is  ancient,  descended 
from  untold  ages  and  well  tried,  so  that  it  may  be  cleansed 
and  by  the  struggle  urged  on  to  greater  victories. 

Gustaf.  I  care  nothing  for  your  learned  arguments. 

Brask.  But  Your  Highness  is  extending  protection  to 
criminals  and  interfering  with  the  privileges  of  the  Church; 
for  the  Church  has  been  grievously  wronged  by  Master 
Olof. 

Gustaf.  Well,  put  him  under  the  ban. 

Brask.  It  has  been  done,  and  yet  he  remains  in  the  ser- 
vice of  Your  Highness. 

Gustaf.  What  more  do  you  want  done  to  him?  Tell 
me?  (Pause.) 

Brask.  Furthermore,  he  has  gone  so  far  as  to  marry 
secretly  in  violation  of  the  Canon  Law. 

Gustaf.  Is  that  so?  That 's  quick  action. 


68  MASTER  OLOF 

Brask.  It  does  n't  concern  Your  Highness  ?  Good  and 
well !  But  if  he  stirs  up  the  people  ? 

Gustaf.  Then  I  '11  step  in.  Anything  more  ? 

Brask  (after  a  pause).  I  ask  you  for  heaven's  sake  not 
to  plunge  the  country  into  disaster  again.  It  is  not  yet  ripe 
for  a  new  faith.  We  are  but  reeds  in  the  wind  and  can  be 
bent — but  when  it  comes  to  the  faith,  or  the  Church — 
never! 

Gustaf  (holding  out  his  hand  to  the  Bishop).  Maybe  you 
are  right!  But  let  us  be  enemies  rather  than  false  friends, 
Bishop  Hans! 

Brask.  Be  it  so!  But  do  not  do  what  you  will  regret. 
Every  stone  you  tear  out  of  the  Church  will  be  thrown  at 
you  by  the  people. 

Gustaf.  Don't  force  me  to  extremes,  Your  Grace,  for 
then  we  shall  have  the  same  horrible  spectacle  here  as  in 
Germany.  For  the  last  time :  are  you  willing  to  make  con- 
cessions if  the  welfare  of  the  country  is  at  stake  ? 

Brask.  The  Church — 

Gustaf.  The  Church  comes  first — very  well!  Good-bye! 

[Exit  Brask. 
Reenter  the  Constable. 

Gustaf.  The  Bishop  has  confirmed  your  statement,  and 
that  was  what  I  wanted  him  to  do.  Now  we  shall  need 
stone-masons  who  know  how  to  tear  down.  The  walls  will 
be  left,  the  cross  may  stay  on  the  roof  and  the  bell  in  the 
tower,  but  I  will  clear  out  the  vaults.  One  must  begin  at 
the  bottom! 

Constable.  The  people  will  think  you  are  taking  away 
their  faith.  They  will  have  to  be  educated. 

Gustaf.  We  '11  send  Master  Olof  to  preach  to  them. 


ACT  THIRD  69 

Constable.  Master  Olof  is  a  dangerous  man. 

Gustaf.  But  needed  just  now. 

Constable.  He  has  carried  on  like  the  Anabaptists  in- 
stead of  opposing  them. 

Gustaf.  I  know.  We  '11  get  to  that  later  on.  Send  him  in. 

Constable.  Lars  the  Chancellor  would  be  a  better  man. 

Gustaf.  Bring  them  both  in. 

Constable.  Or  OloFs  brother,  Lars  Pedersson. 

Gustaf.  No  good  yet.  He  is  too  soft  for  fighting,  but 
his  time  will  come,  too.  [Exit  Constable. 

The  Constable  returns  with  Master  Olof  and  Lars  Andersson. 

Gustaf  (to  the  Chancellor).  Do  you  want  to  help  me,  Lars? 

Lars.  You  are  thinking  of  the  Church? 

Gustaf.  Yes,  it  will  have  to  be  torn  down. 

Lars.  I  am  not  the  man  for  that.  Your  Majesty  had 
better  ask  Master  Olof. 

Gustaf.  You  won't,  then? 

Lars.  I  can't!  But  I  have  a  weapon  for  you.  (He  hands 
the  new  translation  of  the  Bible  to  the  King.) 

Gustaf.  Holy  Writ!  A  good  weapon,  indeed!  Will  you 
wield  it,  Olof? 

Olof.  With  the  help  of  God— yes! 

Gustaf  (to  Olof,  after  having  signalled  to  Lars  to  leave). 
Have  you  calmed  down  yet,  Olof?  (Olof  does  not  answer.) 
I  gave  you  four  days  to  think  it  over.  How  have  you  been 
carrying  out  your  task? 

Olof  (impetuously).  I  have  spoken  to  the  people — 

Gustaf.  Still  in  a  fever !  And  you  mean  to  defend  those 
madmen  named  Anabaptists  ? 

Olof  (bravely).  I  do! 

Gustaf.  Steady! — You  have  married  in  a  hurry? 


70  MASTER  OLOF 

Olof.  I  have. 

Gustaf.  You  are  under  the  ban? 

Olof.  I  am. 

Gustaf.  And  still  as  brave  as  ever!  If  you  were  sent  to  the 
gallows  as  a  rebel  with  the  rest,  what  would  you  say  then  ? 

Olof.  I  should  regret  not  being  permitted  to  finish  my 
task,  but  I  should  thank  the  Lord  for  having  been  allowed 
to  do  what  I  have  done. 

Gustaf.  That's  good!  Would  you  dare  to  go  up  to  that  old 
owl's-nest  Upsala  and  tell  its  learned  men  that  the  Pope 
is  not  God  and  that  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  Sweden? 

Olof.  Only  that? 

Gustaf.  Will  you  tell  them  that  the  only  word  of  God 
is  the  Bible? 
.      Olof.  Must  that  be  all? 

Gustaf.  You  are  not  to  mention  the  name  of  Luther! 

Olof  (after  some  hesitation).  Then  I  will  not  go. 

Gustaf.  Would  you  rather  go  to  your  death? 

Olof.  No,  but  I  know  that  my  sovereign  needs  me. 

Gustaf.  It  is  n't  noble  to  take  advantage  of  my  misfor- 
tune, Olof.  Well,  say  anything  you  please,  but  you  will 
have  to  pardon  me  if  I  take  back  a  part  of  it  afterwards. 

Olof.  Truth  is  n't  sold  by  the  yard. 

Gustaf.  'Sdeath!  (Changing  tone.)  Well,  suit  yourself! 

Olof  (kneeling).  Then  I  may  say  all  that  is  in  my  mind? 

Gustaf.  You  may. 

Olof.  Then,  if  I  can  only  throw  a  single  spark  of  doubt 
into  the  soul  of  this  sleeping  people,  my  life  will  not  have 
been  wasted.  —  It  is  to  be  a  reformation,  then? 

Gustaf  (after  a  pause).  Yes.  (Pause.) 

Olof  (timidly).  And  what  is  to  become  of  the  Anabap- 
tists ? 


ACT  THIRD  71 

Gustaf.  Need  you  ask?  They  must  die. 

Olof.  Will  Your  Highness  permit  me  one  more  ques- 
tion ? 

Gustaf.  Tell  me:  what  do  those  madmen  want? 

Olof.  The  sad  thing  is  that  they  do  not  know  it  them- 
selves, and  if  I  were  to  tell  you — 

Gustaf.  Speak  out! 

Gert  enters  quickly,  pretending  to  be  insane. 

Gustaf.  Who  are  you  to  dare  intrude  here? 

Gert.  I  want  most  humbly  to  beseech  Your  Highness 
to  attest  the  correctness  of  this  document. 

Gustaf.  Wait  till  you  are  called. 

Gert.  Of  course,  I  should  like  to,  but  the  guards  won't 
wait  for  me.  I  escaped  from  prison,  you  see,  because  my 
place  was  n't  there. 

Gustaf.  Are  you  one  of  those  Anabaptists? 

Gert.  Yes,  I  happened  to  get  mixed  up  with  them, 
but  here  I  have  a  certificate  proving  that  I  belong  to  the 
asylum,  the  third  department  for  incurables,  cell  number 
seven. 

Gustaf  (to  Olof").  Send  word  to  the  guard. 

Gert.  That  is  n't  necessary,  for  I  want  nothing  but  jus- 
tice, and  it 's  something  the  guard  does  n't  handle. 

Gustaf  (looting  hard  at  Gert).  I  suppose  you  have  had 
a  share  in  those  outrages  in  the  city  churches? 

Gert.  Of  course,  I  have!  No  sane  person  could  behave 
so  madly.  We  wanted  only  to  make  a  few  minor  altera- 
tions in  the  style.  They  seemed  too  low  in  the  ceiling. 

Gustaf.  What  do  you  really  want? 

Gert.  Oh,  we  want  a  great  deal,  although  we  haven't 
got  through  with  one-half  of  it  yet.  Yes,  we  want  so  many 


72  MASTER  OLOF 

things  and  we  want  them  so  quickly,  that  our  reason 
cannot  keep  pace  with  them,  and  that 's  why  it  has  been 
lagging  behind  a  little.  Yes,  we  wish  among  other  things 
to  change  the  furnishings  a  little  in  the  churches,  and  to 
remove  the  windows  because  the  air  seems  so  musty. 
Yes,  and  there  is  a  lot  more  we  want,  but  that  will  have 
to  wait  for  a  while. 

Gustaf  (to  Olof}.  That's  a  perilous  disease — for  any- 
thing else  it  cannot  be. 

Olof.  Who  knows? 

Gustaf.  Now  I  am  tired.  You'll  have  a  fortnight  in 
which  to  get  ready.  Your  hand  that  you  will  help  me! 

Olof.  I  will  do  my  part. 

Gustaf.  Give  orders  to  have  Rink  and  Knipperdollink 
sent  to  Malmo. 

Olof.  And  then? 

Gustaf.  They  '11  have  a  chance  to  escape.  That  fool 
over  there  you  can  send  back  to  the  asylum.  Farewell! 

[Exit. 

Gert  (shaking  his  clenched  fat  after  Gustaf}.  Well,  are  we 
going? 

Olof.  Where? 

Gert.  Home.  (Olof  remains  silent.}  You  don't   wish  to 
send  your  father-in-law  to  the  madhouse,  do  you,  Olof? 

Olof.  You  ask  me  what  I  wish — How  about  my  duty? 

Gert.  Is  there  no  duty  above  the  royal  command? 

Olof.  Are  you  beginning  again? 

Gert.  What  will  Christine  say  if  you  put  her  father 
among  madmen? 

Olof.  Tempt  me  not! 

Gert.  Do  you  see  how  difficult  it  is  to  serve  the  King? 
(Olof  does  not  answer.}  I  won't  make  you  unhappy,  my  poor 


ACT  THIRD  73 

boy.  Here  's  balm  for  your  conscience.  (He  takes  out  a 
document?) 

Olof.  What  is  it? 

Gert.  A  certificate  of  health.  You  see,  it  is  necessary  to 
be  a  madman  among  sane  people,  and  sane  among  mad- 
men. 

Olof.  How  did  you  get  it? 

Gert.  Don't  you  think  I  deserve  it? 

Olof.  I  can't  tell. 

Gert.  True  enough:  you  don't  yet  dare. 

Enter  Servant. 

Servant.  Will  you  please  go  your  way.  They  're  about 
to  sweep. 

Gert.  Perhaps  the  place  has  to  be  aired,  too? 

Servant.  Yes,  indeed ! 

Gert.  Don't  forget  to  open  the  windows. 

Servant.  No,  you  may  be  sure,  and  it 's  needed,  too,  for 
we  are  not  accustomed  to  this  kind  of  company. 

Gert.  Look  here,  old  man  —  I  carry  a  greeting  from 
your  father. 

Servant.  Oh,  you  do? 

Gert.  Perhaps  you  never  knew  him  ? 

Servant.  Why,  certainly ! 

Gert.  Do  you  know  what  he  said? 

Servant.  No. 

Gert.  Wet  the  broom,  he  said,  or  you  '11  get  the  dust 
all  over  yourself. 

Servant.  I  don't  understand. 

Gert.  Well,  that 's  your  only  excuse. 

[Exeunt  Gert  and  Olof. 

Servant.  Rabble! 


74  MASTER  OLOF 

SCENE  2 

Olofs  Study.  There  are  windows  in  the  background,  through 
which  the  sun  is  shining  into  the  room.  Trees  are  visible  out- 
side. Christine  is  standing  at  one  of  the  windows,  watering 
her  flowers.  While  doing  so  she  is  prattling  to  some  birds  in  a 
cage.  Olof  is  seated  at  a  table,  writing.  With  an  impatient 
mien  he  looks  up  and  across  the  room  to  Christine  as  if  he  wished 
her  to  keep  quiet.  This  happens  several  times,  until  at  last  Chris- 
tine knocks  down  one  of  the  flower  pots,  when  Olof  taps  the 
floor  lightly  with  his  foot. 

Christine.  Oh,  my  poor  little  flower!  Look,  Olof,  four  buds 
were  broken  off. 

Olof.  Yes,  I  see. 

Christine.  No,  you  don't.  You  must  come  over  here. 

Olof.  My  dear,  I  have  n't  time. 

Christine.  You  have  n't  looked  at  the  starlings  which  I 
bought  for  you  this  morning.  Don't  you  think  they  sing 
sweetly  ? 

Olof.  Rather. 

Christine.  Rather? 

Olof.  It 's  hard  for  me  to  work  when  they  are  scream- 
ing like  that. 

Christine.  They  are  not  screaming,  Olof,  but  you  seem 
to  be  more  fond  of  a  night  bird  that  does  scream.  Tell  me, 
what  is  the  meaning  of  the  owl  that  appears  on  your  sig- 
net ring? 

Olof.  The  owl  is  an  ancient  symbol  of  wisdom. 

Christine.  I  think  that 's  stupid!  Wise  people  don't  love 
the  darkness. 

Olof.  The  wise  man  hates  the  darkness  and  the  night, 
but  his  keen  eye  turns  night  into  day. 


ACT  THIRD  75 

Christine.  Why  are  you  always  right,  Olof?  Can  you 
tell  me? 

Olof.  Because  I  know  it  pleases  you,  my  dear,  to  let  me 
be  in  the  right. 

Christine.  Now,  you  are  right  again. — What  is  that  you 
are  writing? 

Olof.  I  am  translating. 

Christine.  Read  a  little  of  it  to  me. 

Olof.  I  don't  think  you  could  understand  it. 

Christine.  Why  should  n't  I  ?  Is  it  not  in  Swedish  ? 

Olof.  Yes,  but  it  is  too  abstract  for  you. 

Christine.  Abstract?  What  does  that  mean? 

Olof.  You  would  n't  understand  if  I  told  you,  but  if  you 
don't  understand  what  I  read  to  you,  then  you  understand 
what  is  meant  by  "abstract." 

Christine  (picking  up  a  piece  of  half- finished  embroidery}. 
Go  on  and  read  while  I  work  at  this. 

Olof.  Listen  carefully,  then,  and  forgive  me  if  you  find 
it  tedious. 

Christine.  I  shall  understand  because  I  want  to. 

Olof  (reading).  "  Matter  when  considered  separate  from 
form  is  something  wholly  without  predicability,  indeter- 
minable and  indistinguishable.  For  nothing  can  originate 
out  of  pure  non-being,  but  only  out  of  the  non-being 
of  reality,  which  is  synonymous  with  being  as  a  possibil- 
ity. Being  in  its  possibility  is  no  more  non-being  than  is 
reality.  For  that  reason  every  existence  is  a  realized  pos- 
sibility. Thus  matter  is  to  Aristotle  a  much  more  positive 
substratum  than  to  Plato,  who  declares  it  to  be  pure  non- 
being.  And  thereby  it  becomes  plain  how  Aristotle  could 
conceive  of  matter  in  its  opposition  to  form  as  a  positive 
negativity." 


76  MASTER  OLOF 

Christine  (throwing  aside  her  work).  Stop!  Why  is  it  that 
I  cannot  understand  that?  Have  I  not  the  same  mental 
faculties  as  you?  I  am  ashamed,  Olof,  because  you  have 
such  a  poor  creature  of  a  wife  that  she  cannot  understand 
what  you  say.  No,  I  will  stick  to  my  embroidery,  I  will 
clean  and  dust  your  study,  I  will  at  least  learn  to  read  your 
wishes  in  your  eyes.  I  may  become  your  slave,  but  never, 
never  shall  I  be  able  to  understand  you.  Oh,  Olof,  I  am 
not  worthy  of  you!  Why  did  you  make  me  your  wife? 
You  must  have  over-valued  me  in  a  moment  of  intoxi- 
cation. Now  you  will  regret  it,  and  we  sh^all  both  be  un- 
happy. 

Olof.  Christine!  Don't  take  it  like  that,  dear!  Come 
and  sit  here  by  me.  (He  picks  up  the  embroidery.)  Will  you 
believe  me  if  I  tell  you  that  I  could  n't  possibly  do  a  thing 
like  this?  Never  in  my  life  could  I  do  it.  Are  you  not  then 
cleverer  than  I,  and  am  I  not  the  lesser  of  us  two? 

Christine.  But  why  can't  you  do  it? 

Olof.  For  the  same  reason  that  you  could  n't  understand 
me  a  moment  ago:  I  haven't  learned  how.  And  perhaps 
you  will  feel  happy  once  more  if  I  tell  you  that  you  can 
learn  to  understand  this  book — which,  by  the  by,  is  not 
identical  with  me — while,  on  the  other  hand,  I  could 
never  learn  to  do  your  work. 

Christine.  Why  could  n't  you  ? 

Olof.  Because  I  am  not  built  that  way  and  don't  want 
to  do  it. 

Christine.  But  if  you  wanted  to  ? 

Olof.  Well,  there,  my  dear,  you  have  my  weak  point. 
I  could  never  want  to  do  it.  Believe  me,  you  are  stronger 
than  I,  for  you  have  power  over  your  own  will,  but  I 
have  not. 


ACT  THIRD  77 

Christine.  Do  you  think  I  could  learn  to  understand  that 
book  of  yours  ? 

Olof.  I  am  convinced  of  it.  But  you  must  not. 

Christine.  Am  I  still  to  be  kept  in  ignorance? 

Olof.  No,  no — understand  me  right!  The  moment  you 
understood  what  I  understand,  you  would  cease  to  think 
of  me  as  — 

Christine.  A  god — 

Olof.  Let  it  go  at  that !  But  believe  me,  you  would  lose 
what  now  puts  you  above  me — the  power  to  control  your 
own  will — and  then  you  would  be  less  than  I,  and  I  could 
not  respect  you.  Do  you  see?  It  makes  us  happy  to  over- 
value each  other;  let  us  keep  that  illusion. 

Christine.  Now  I  don't  understand  you  at  all, but  I  must 
trust  you,  Olof.  You  are  right! 

Olof.  Please  leave  me  alone,  Christine — I  beg  you! 

Christine.  Do  I  disturb  you  ? 

Olof.  There  are  some  very  serious  thoughts  that  occupy 
me.  You  know,  I  expect  something  decisive  to  happen  to- 
day. The  King  has  abdicated  because  the  people  would 
not  do  what  he  desired.  To-day  I  shall  either  reach  my  goal 
or  have  to  start  the  fight  all  over  again. 

Christine.  May  I  not  be  happy  to-day,  Olof — on  Mid- 
summer Eve? 

Olof.  Why  should  you  be  so  very  happy  to-day? 

Christine.  Why  should  I  not — since  I  have  been  set 
free  from  slavery  and  have  become  your  wife? 

Olof.  Can  you  forgive  me  that  my  happiness  is  a  little 
more  sober  because  it  has  cost  me — a  mother? 

Christine.  I  know,  and  I  feel  it  very  deeply.  But  when 
your  mother  learns  of  our  marriage,  she  will  forgive  you 
and  put  her  curse  on  me.  Whose  burden  will  then  be  the 


78  MASTER  OLOF 

heavier?  However,  it  doesn't  matter,  because  it's  borne 
for  your  sake.  And  this  much  I  know :  that  terrible  strug- 
gles are  awaiting  you;  that  daring  thoughts  are  growing  in 
your  mind;  and  that  I  can  never  share  your  struggle,  never 
help  you  with  advice,  never  defend  you  against  those  that 
vilify  you — but  still  I  must  look  on,  and  through  it  all  I 
must  go  on  living  in  my  own  little  world, employing  myself 
with  petty  things  which  you  do  not  appreciate,  but  would 
miss  if  they  were  not  attended  to.  Olof,  I  cannot  weep 
with  you,  so  you  must  help  me  to  make  you  smile  with 
me.  Come  down  from  those  heights  which  I  cannot  at- 
tain. Leave  your  battles  on  the  hilltops  and  return  some 
time  to  our  home.  As  I  cannot  ascend  to  you,  you  must 
descend  to  me  for  a  moment.  Forgive  me,  Olof,  if  I  talk 
childishly!  I  know  that  you  are  a  man  sent  by  the  Lord, 
and  I  have  felt  the  blessing  with  which  your  words  are 
fraught.  But  you  are  more  than  that — you  are  a  man,  and 
you  are  my  husband — or  at  least  ought  to  be.  You  won't 
fall  from  your  exalted  place  if  you  put  aside  your  solemn 
speech  now  and  then  and  let  the  clouds  pass  from  your 
forehead.  You  are  not  too  great,  are  you, to  look  at  a  flower 
or  listen  to  a  bird  ?  I  put  the  flowers  on  your  table,  Olof, 
in  order  that  they  might  rest  your  eyes — and  you  ordered 
the  maid  to  take  them  out  because  they  gave  you  a  head- 
ache. I  tried  to  cheer  the  lonely  silence  of  your  work  by 
bringing  the  birds — whose  song  you  call  screaming.  I 
asked  you  to  come  to  dinner  a  while  ago — you  had  n't 
time.  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you — you  had  n't  time.  You  de- 
spise this  little  corner  of  reality — and  yet  that  is  what  you 
have  set  aside  for  me.  You  don't  want  to  lift  me  up  to 
you — but  try  at  least  not  to  push  me  further  down.  I  will 
take  away  everything  that  might  disturb  your  thoughts. 


ACT  THIRD  79 

You  shall  have  peace  from  me — and  from  my  rubbish! 
(She  throws  the  flowers  out  of  the  window,  picks  up  the  bird- 
cage, and  starts  to  leave?) 

Olof.  Christine, dear  child, forgive  me!  You  don't  under- 
stand me! 

Christine.  Always  the  same:  "You  don't  understand 
me!"  Oh,  I  know  now  what  it  means.  In  that  moment 
in  the  sacristy  I  matured  so  completely  that  I  reached  my 
second  childhood  at  once! 

Olof.  I  '11  look  at  your  birds  and  prattle  with  your 
flowers,  dear  heart. 

Christine  (putting  aside  the  bird-cage).  No,  the  time  for 
prattle  is  gone  by — from  now  on  we  shall  be  serious.  You 
need  not  fear  my  boisterous  happiness.  It  was  only  put  on 
for  your  sake,  and  as  it  does  n't  suit  your  sombre  calling, 
I  '11  —  (She  bursts  into  tears.) 

Olof  (putting  his  arms  around  her  and  kissing  her). 
Christine!  Christine!  You  are  right!  Please  pardon 
me! 

Christine.  You  gave  me  an  unlucky  gift,  Olof,  when  you 
gave  me  freedom,  for  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it.  I 
must  have  some  one  to  obey ! 

Olof.  And  so  you  shall,  but  don't  let  us  talk  of  it  any 
more.  Let  us  eat  now — in  fact,  I  feel  quite  hungry. 

Christine  (pleased").  Do  you  really  know  how  to  be  hun- 
gry? (At  that  moment  she  looks  out  of  the  window  and  makes 
a  gesture  of  dismay?)  Go  on,  Olof,  and  I  '11  be  with  you  in 
a  moment.  I  only  want  to  get  things  in  a  little  better  order 
in  here. 

Olof  (as  he  goes  out).  Don't  let  me  wait  so  long  for  you 
as  you  have  had  to  wait  for  me. 
(Christine  folds  her  hands  as  if  praying  and  takes  up  a  position 


8o  MASTER  OLOF 

indicating  that  she  is  waiting  for  somebody  about  to  enter  from 
the  street.  Pause.) 

Enter  Olof  s  Mother.  She  passes  Christine  without  looking  at 
her. 

Mother.  Is  Master  Olof  at  home? 

Christine  (who  has  started  to  meet  her  in  a  friendly  way, 
is  taken  aback  for  a  moment',  then  she  answers  in  the  same  tone). 
No,  but  if  you  care  to  be  seated,  he  will  be  here  soon. 

Mother.  Thank  you!  (She  seats  herself .  Pause.)  Bring  me 
a  glass  of  water.  (Christine  waits  on  her.)  Now  you  can  leave 
me. 

Christine.  It  is  my  housewifely  duty  to  bear  you  com- 
pany. 

Mother.  I  did  n't  know  that  the  housekeeper  of  a  priest 
could  call  herself  a  housewife. 

Christine.  I  am  the  wife  of  Olof  with  the  sanction  of 
the  Lord.  Don't  you  know  that  we  are  married? 

Mother.  You  are  a  harlot — that's  what  I  know! 

Christine.  That  word  I  do  not  understand. 

Mother.  You  are  the  same  kind  of  woman  as  she  with 
whom  Master  Olof  was  talking  that  evening  in  the  beer- 
shop. 

Christine.  The  one  that  looked  so  unhappy  ?  Yes,  I  don't 
feel  very  happy. 

Mother.  Of  course  not!  Take  yourself  out  of  my  sight! 
Your  presence  shames  me ! 

Christine  (on  her  knees).  For  the  sake  of  your  son,  don't 
heap  abuse  on  me! 

Mother.  With  a  mother's  authority  I  command  you  to 
leave  my  son's  house,  the  threshold  of  which  you  have 
defiled.  ' 


ACT  THIRD  8 1 

Christine.  As  a  housewife  I  open  my  door  to  whom  I 
may  choose  to  receive.  I  should  have  closed  it  to  you,  had 
I  been  able  to  guess  what  language  you  would  use. 

Mother.  Big  words,  indeed !  I  command  you  to  leave ! 

Christine.  With  what  right  do  you  force  yourself  into 
this  house  in  order  to  drive  me  out  of  my  own  home  ?  You 
have  borne  a  son,  and  raised  him — that  was  your  duty, 
your  mission,  and  you  may  thank  your  God  for  being  per- 
mitted to  fill  that  mission  so  well,  which  is  a  good  fortune 
not  granted  to  everybody.  Now  you  have  reached  the  edge 
of  the  grave.  Why  not  resign  yourself  before  the  end  comes  ? 
Or  have  you  raised  your  son  so  poorly  that  he  is  still  a 
child  and  needs  your  guidance  ?  If  you  want  gratitude,  come 
and  look  for  it,  but  not  in  this  way.  Or  do  you  think  it 
is  the  destiny  of  a  child  to  sacrifice  its  own  life  merely  to 
show  you  gratitude?  His  mission  is  calling:  "Go!  "  And 
you  cry  to  him:  "  Come  to  me,  you  ingrate!"  Is  he  to  go 
astray — is  he  to  waste  his  powers,  that  belong  to  his  coun- 
try, to  mankind — merely  for  the  satisfaction  of  your  pri- 
vate little  selfishness?  Or  do  you  imagine  that  the  fact  of 
having  borne  and  raised  him  does  even  entitle  you  to  grat- 
itude? Did  not  your  life's  mission  and  destiny  lie  in  that? 
Should  you  not  thank  the  Lord  for  being  given  such  a  high 
mission  ?  Or  did  you  do  it  only  that  you  might  spend  the 
rest  of  your  life  clamoring  for  gratitude?  Don't  you  see 
that  by  using  that  word  "gratitude"  you  tear  down  all 
that  you  have  built  up  before?  And  what  makes  you  pre- 
sume that  you  have  rights  over  me?  Is  marriage  to  mean 
a  mortgaging  of  my  free  will  to  anybody  whom  nature  has 
made  the  mother  or  father  of  my  husband — who  unfor- 
tunately could  not  exist  without  either?  You  are  not  my 
mother.  My  troth  was  not  pledged  to  you  when  I  took 


82  MASTER  OLOF 

Olof  as  my  husband.  And  I  have  sufficient  respect  for  my 
husband  not  to  permit  anybody  to  insult  him,  even  if  it 
be  his  own  mother.  That 's  why  I  have  spoken  as  I  have! 

Mother.  Alas,  such  are  the  fruits  borne  by  the  teachings 
of  my  son! 

Christine.  If  you  choose  to  revile  your  son,  it  had  better 
be  in  his  presence.  (She goes  to  the  door  and  calls.)  Olof! 

Mother.  Such  guile  already! 

Christine.  Already?  It 's  nothing  new,  I  think,  although 
I  did  n't  know  I  had  it  until  it  was  needed. 

Enter  Olof. 

Olof.  Mother!  I  am  right  glad  to  see  you! 

Mother.  Thanks,  my  son — and  good-bye! 

Olof.  Are  you  going  ?  What  does  that  mean  ?  I  wish  to 
talk  to  you. 

Mother.  No  need !  She  has  said  all  there  is  to  say.  You 
will  not  have  to  show  me  the  door. 

Olof.  In  God's  name,  mother,  what  are  you  saying? 
Christine,  what  does  this  mean? 

Mother  (about  to  leave).  Good-bye,  Olof!  This  is  more 
than  I  can  ever  forgive  you! 

Olof  (trying  to  hold  her  back).  Stay  and  explain,  at  least! 

Mother.  It  was  not  worthy  of  you  !  To  send  her  to  tell 
me  that  you  owe  me  nothing  and  need  me  no  more !  Oh, 
that  was  cruel!  [Exit. 

Olof.  What  did  you  say,  Christine? 

Christine.  I  don't  remember,  because  there  were  so  many 
things  which  I  had  never  dared  to  think,  but  which  I  must 
have  dreamt  while  father  kept  me  still  enslaved. 

Olof.  I  don't  know  you  any  more,  Christine. 

Christine.  No,  I  begin  to  feel  a  little  lost  myself. 


ACT  THIRD  83 

Olof.  Were  you  unkind  to  mother? 

Christine.  I  suppose  I  was.  Does  it  seem  to  you  that  I 
have  grown  hard,  Olof? 

Olof.  Did  you  show  her  the  door? 

Christine.  Forgive  me,  Olof!  I  was  not  kind  to  her. 

Olof.  For  my  sake  you  might  have  made  your  words  a 
little  milder.  Why  didn't  you  call  me  at  once? 

Christine.  I  wished  to  see  if  I  had  the  strength  to  take 
care  of  myself.  Olof,  would  you  sacrifice  me  to  your 
mother,  if  she  demanded  it  ? 

Olof.  I  cannot  answer  such  a  question  offhand. 

Christine.  I  '11  do  it  in  your  place.  It  pleases  you  to  sub- 
mit willingly  to  your  mother's  will  and  wish  because  you 
are  strong — and  I,  on  the  other  hand,  feel  hurt  by  doing 
so,  for  I  am  weak.  I  will  never  do  it ! 

Olof.  Not  if  I  ask  you? 

Christine.  That's  more  than  you  can  ask.  Or  would  you 
have  me  hate  her? — Tell  me,  Olof,  what  is  meant  by  a 
"harlot"? 

Olof.  You  ask  such  strange  questions. 

Christine.  Will  you  please  answer  me  ? 

Olof.  Will  you  forgive  me  if  I  don't? 

Christine.  Always  this  unending  silence !  Do  you  not  yet 
dare  to  tell  me  all  ?  Am  I  to  be  a  child  forever  ?  Then  you 
had  better  put  me  in  a  nursery  and  talk  baby-talk  to  me. 

Olof.  It  means  an  unfortunate  woman. 

Christine.  No,  it  means  something  more  than  that. 

Olof.  Has  anybody  dared  to  use  that  word  to  you? 

Christine  (after  a  pause).  No. 

Olof.  Now  you  are  not  telling  the  truth,  Christine. 

Christine.  I  know  I  lie!  Oh,  since  yesterday  I  have 
grown  very  wicked! 


84  MASTER  OLOF 

Olof.  You  are  hiding  something  that  happened  yester- 
day! 

Christine.  I  am  —  I  thought  that  I  could  keep  it  to  my- 
self, but  it  has  grown  too  much  for  me. 

Olof.  Speak  —  I  beg  you] 

Christine.  But  you  mustn't  call  me  silly!  A  crowd  of 
people  pursued  me  all  the  way  to  our  door  and  called  after 
me  that  horrible  word  which  I  don't  understand.  People 
do  not  laugh  at  an  unfortunate  woman — 

Olof.  Yes,  dear,  that 's  just  what  they  do. 

Christine.  I  did  n't  understand  their  words,  but  their  ac- 
tions were  plain  enough  to  make  me  wicked! 

Olof.  And  yet  you  were  so  kind  to  me !  Forgive  me  if 
I  have  been  hard  to  you! — It  is  a  name  given  by  brute 
force  to  its  own  victims.  Sooner  or  later  you'll  learn  more 
about  it, but  never  dare  to  defend  an  "unfortunate  woman" 
—  for  then  they  will  throw  mud  at  you !  (A  messenger  enters 
and  hands  him  a  letter?)  At  last !  {After  a  glance  at  the  letter?) 
You  read  it  to  me,  Christine!  It  is  from  your  lips  I  want 
to  hear  the  glad  tidings. 

Christine  (reading).  "Young  man,  you  have  conquered! 
I,  your  enemy,  desire  to  be  the  first  to  tell  you  so,  and 
I  address  myself  to  you  without  any  sense  of  humiliation 
because,  in  speaking  for  the  new  faith,  you  have  wielded 
no  weapons  but  those  of  the  spirit.  Whether  you  be  right,  I 
cannot  tell,  but  I  think  you  have  deserved  a  piece  of  advice 
from  an  older  man:  stop  here,  for  your  enemies  are  gone! 
Do  not  wage  war  on  creatures  made  of  air,  for  that  will 
lame  your  arm  and  you  will  die  of  dry  rot.  Do  not  put 
your  trust  in  princes — is  another  piece  of  advice  given 
you  by  a  once  powerful  man  who  has  now  to  step  aside 
and  leave  to  the  Lord  to  settle  what  is  to  become  of  his 


ACT  THIRD  85 

prostrated  Church.  Johannes  Brask."  {Speaking.}  You  have 
conquered ! 

Olof  (joyfully).  I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  this  hour. 
(Pause.}  No,  it  scares  me,  Christine!  This  fortune  is  too 
great.  I  am  too  young  to  have  reached  the  goal  already.  To 
have  no  more  to  do — oh,  what  a  frightful  thought!  No 
further  fighting — that  would  be  death! 

Christine.  Oh,  rest  a  moment,  and  be  happy  that  it  is 
over. 

Olof.  Can  there  be  an  end  to  anything?  An  end  to  such 
a  beginning  ?  No,  no !  —  Oh,  that  I  could  begin  it  all  anew ! 
It  wasn't  the  victory  I  wanted,  but  the  fight! 

Christine.  Olof,  do  not  tempt  the  Lord !  I  have  a  feel- 
ing that  much  remains  undone — very  much,  indeed! 
Enter  Courtier. 

Courtier.  Good-day  to  you,  Secretary!  And  pleasant 
news!  [Exit  Christine. 

Olof.  Be  welcome!  Some  of  it  I  have  heard  already. 

Courtier.  Thanks  for  your  splendid  answering  of  that 
stupid  Galle.  You  went  after  him  like  a  man.  A  little  too 
fiercely,  perhaps — not  quite  so  much  fire,  you  know!  And 
a  little  venom  doesn't  hurt. 

Olof.  You  have  news  from  the  King? 

Courtier.  Yes,  and  you  shall  have  a  brief  summary  of 
the  conditions  agreed  on :  First,  mutual  support  for  the 
resistance  and  punishment  of  all  rebellions. 

Olof.  Go  on,  if  you  please. 

Courtier.  Second,  the  King  shall  have  the  right  to  take 
possession  of  the  palaces  and  fortified  places  of  the  bishops, 
as  well  as  to  fix  their  incomes  — 

Olof.  Third— 


86  MASTER  OLOF 

Courtier.  Now  comes  the  best  of  all — the  principal  point 
of  the  whole  undertaking:  Third,  the  nobility  shall  have 
the  right  to  claim  whatever  of  its  properties  and  inherit- 
ances have  fallen  to  churches  and  cloisters  since  the  re- 
vision by  King  Carl  Knutsson  in  1454  — 

Olof.  And  fourth? 

Courtier.  Provided  the  heir  can  get  twelve  men  under 
oath  to  attest  his  right  of  inheritance  at  the  assizes.  (He 
folds  the  document  from  which  he  has  been  reading?) 

Olof.  Have  you  finished? 

Courtier.  Yes.  Isn't  that  pretty  good? 

Olof.  Nothing  more? 

Courtier.  Oh,  there  are  a  few  minor  points  of  no  spe- 
cial importance. 

Olof.  Let  me  hear  them. 

Courtier  (reading  again).  There  is  a  fifth  point  about 
the  right  of  preachers  to  preach  the  word  of  God,  but,  of 
course,  they  have  had  that  all  the  time. 

Olof.  Nothing  more? 

Courtier.  Yes,  then  comes  the  ordinance:  a  register  is  to 
be  established  showing  the  amount  of  tithes  collected  by 
all  bishops,  chapters,  and  canons,  and  the  King  shall  have 
the  right  to  prescribe — 

Olof.  Oh,  that 's  neither  here  nor  there! 

Courtier. — how  much  of  those  may  be  retained,  and  how 
much  shall  be  surrendered  to  him  for  the  use  of  the  Crown; 
furthermore, all  appointments  to  spiritual  offices — and  this 
ought  to  interest  you — to  spiritual  offices,  minor  as  well 
as  major,  can  hereafter  be  made  only  with  the  sanction  of 
the  King,  so  that — 

Olof.  Will  you  please  read  me  the  point  dealing  with 
the  faith — 


ACT  THIRD  87 

Courtier.  The  faith — there  is  nothing  about  it.  Oh,  yes, 
let  me  see — from  this  day  the  Gospel  is  to  be  read  in  all 
schoolhouses. 

Olof.  Is  that  all? 

Courtier.  All?  Oh,  no,  I  remember!  I  have  a  special 
order  from  the  King  to  you — and  a  most  sensible  one 
— that,  as  the  people  are  stirred  up  over  all  these  innova- 
tions, you  must  by  no  means  disturb  the  old  forms;  must 
not  abolish  masses,  holy  water,  nor  any  other  usage,  nor  fur- 
thermore indulge  in  any  reckless  acts,  for  hereafter  the 
King  will  not  close  his  eyes  to  your  escapades  as  he  has 
had  to  do  in  the  past,  when  he  lacked  power  to  do  other- 
wise. 

Olof.  I  see !  And  the  new  faith  which  he  has  permitted 
me  to  preach  so  far? 

Courtier.  It  is  to  ripen  slowly. — It  will  come!  It  will 
come! 

Olof.  Is  there  anything  more? 

Courtier  (rising).  No.  If  you  will  only  keep  calm  now, 
you  may  go  very  far.  Oh,  yes — I  came  near  forgetting  the 
best  part  of  all.  My  dear  Pastor,  permit  me  to  congratu- 
late you!  Here  is  your  appointment.  Pastor  of  the  city 
church,  with  an  income  of  three  thousand,  at  your  age — 
indeed,  you  could  now  settle  down  in  peace  and  enjoy  life, 
even  if  you  were  never  to  get  any  further.  It  is  splendid  to 
have  reached  one's  goal  while  still  so  young.  I  congratulate 
you!  \Exit. 

Olof  (Jlinging  the  appointment  on  the  floor).  So  this  is  all 
that  I  have  fought  and  suffered  for!  An  appointment!  A 
royal  appointment!  I  have  been  serving  Belial  instead  of 
God!  Woe  be  to  you, false  King, who  have  sold  your  Lord 
and  God!  Alas  for  me,  who  have  sold  my  life  and  my 


88  MASTER  OLOF 

labors  to  mammon!  O  God  in  Heaven,  forgive  me!  (He 
throws  himself,  weeping,  on  a  bench .) 

Enter  Christine  and  Gert.   Christine  comes  forward,  while 
Gert  remains  in  the  background. 

Christine  (picks  up  the  appointment  and  reads  it;  then  she 
runs  to  Olof,  her  face  beaming).  Now,  Olof,  I  can  wish  you 
joy  with  a  happy  heart !  (She  starts  to  caress  him,  but  he  leaps 
to  his  feet  and  pushes  her  away.) 

Olof.  Leave  me  alone!  You,  too! 

Gert  (coming  forward}.  Well,  Olof,  the  faith — 

Olof.  The  lack  of  faith,  you  mean ! 

Gert.  The  Pope  is  beaten,  is  n't  he?  Had  n't  we  better 
begin  with  the  Emperor  soon? 

Olof.  We  began  at  the  wrong  end. 

Gert.  At  last! 

Olof.  You  were  right,  Gert!  I  am  with  you  now!  It's 
war,  but  it  must  be  open  and  honest. 

Gert.  Until  to-day  you  have  been  dreaming  childish 
dreams. 

Olof.  I  know  it.  Now  the  flood  is  coming!  Let  it  come! 
Alas  for  them  and  for  us! 

Christine.  Olof,  for  Heaven's  sake,  stop! 

Olof.  Leave  me,  child !  Here  you  will  be  drowned,  or 
you  will  drag  me  down. 

Gert.  What  made  you  venture  out  in  the  storm,  my 
child?  \_Exit  Christine. 

( The  ringing  of  bells,  the  joyful  shouting  of  crowds,  and  the 
sounding  of  drums  and  trumpets  become  audible} 

Olof  (going  to  the  window}.  What  has  set  the  people 
shouting  ? 


ACT  THIRD  89 

Gert.  The  King  is  providing  them  with  a  maypole  and 
music  outside  North  Gate. 

Olof.  And  are  they  not  aware  that  he  will  chasten  them 
with  swords  instead  of  rods  ? 

Gert.  Aware?  If  they  were! 

Olof.  Poor  children !  They  dance  to  his  piping  and  fol- 
low his  drums  to  their  death!  Must  all  die,  then,  in  order 
that  one  may  live? 

Gert.  No,  one  shall  die  that  all  may  live ! 
(Olof  makes  a  gesture  of  dismay  and  repugnance^) 


ACT  IV 

A  Room  In  the  House  of  Olof's  Mother.  At  the  right  stands 
a  bedstead  with  four  posts,  in  which  the  Mother  is  lying  sick. 
Christine  is  asleep  on  a  chair.  Lars  Pedersson  is  renewing  the 
oil  of  the  night-lamp  and  turning  the  hour-glass. 
Lars  (speaking  to  himself}.  Midnight — Now  comes  the 
critical  time.  (He  goes  to  the  bed  and  listens.  At  that  moment 
Christine  moans  in  her  sleep.  He  crosses  the  room  and  wakens 
her.)  Christine!  (She  wakes  with  a  start.)  Go  to  bed,  child; 
I  will  watch. 

Christine.  No,  I  will  wait.  I  must  speak  to  her  before 
she  dies — I  think  Olof  should  be  here  soon. 

Lars.  It  is  for  his  sake  you  are  watching! 

Christine.  Yes,  and  you  must  n't  say  that  I  have  slept. 
Do  you  hear? 

Lars.  Poor  girl! — You're  not  happy! 

Christine.  Who  says  one  should  be  happy? 

Lars.  Does  Olof  know  that  you  are  here  ? 

Christine.  No,  he  would  never  permit  it.  He  wants 
to  keep  me  like  the  carved  image  of  some  saint  standing 
on  a  shelf.  The  smaller  and  weaker  he  can  make  me, 
the  greater  is  his  pleasure  in  placing  his  strength  at  my 
feet— 

Mother  (waking).  Lars!  (Christine  holds  back  Lars  and 
steps  forward?)  Who  is  that? 

Christine.  The  nurse. 

Mother.  Christine! 

Christine.  Do  you  want  anything? 

Mother.  Nothing  from  you. 

Christine.  Dame  Christine! 


ACT  FOURTH  91 

Mother.  Don't  make  my  last  moments  more  bitter.  Go 
away  from  here! 

Lars  (coming  forward).  What  do  you  want,  mother? 

Mother.  Take  away  that  woman !  And  bring  the  father 
confessor — -I  shall  soon  die. 

Lars.  Is  not  your  own  son  worthy  of  receiving  your  last 
confidences? 

Mother.  No,  he  has  done  nothing  to  deserve  them.  Has 
Marten  come  yet? 

Lars.  Marten  is  a  bad  man. 

Mother.  O  Lord,  how  terrible  Thy  punishment!  My 
children  standing  between  myself  and  Thee!  Am  I  then 
to  be  denied  the  consolations  of  religion  in  my  last  mo- 
ments? You  have  taken  my  life — do  you  want  to  destroy 
my  soul,  too — the  soul  of  your  mother?  (She  falls  into  a 
faint.) 

Lars.  Do  you  hear  that,  Christine!  What  are  we  to 
do?  Shall  we  let  her  die  in  the  deception  practised  on  her 
by  a  miserable  wretch  like  Marten — and  perhaps  get  her 
thanks  for  it — or  shall  we  turn  her  final  prayer  into  a 
curse?  No,  let  them  come,  rather!  Or  what  do  you  think, 
Christine? 

Christine.  I  dare  not  think  at  all. 

Lars  (goes  out  for  a  moment,  but  returns  quickly).  Oh,  it  is 
horrible !  They  have  fallen  asleep  over  their  dice  and  their 
tumblers.  And  by  such  as  those  my  mother  is  to  be  pre- 
pared for  her  death! 

Christine.  But  why  not  tell  her  the  truth? 

Lars.  She  won't  believe  it,  and  it  is  cast  back  on  us  as 
a  lie. 

Mother.  My  son,  won't  you  listen  to  your  mother's  last 
request  ? 


92  MASTER  OLOF 

Lars  (going  out).  May  God  forgive  me! 

Christine.  Olof  would  never  have  done  that ! 
(Lars  returns  with   Marten  and  Nils,  whereupon  he  leads 
Christine  out  of  the  room.) 

Marten  (going  up  to  the  bed}.  She's  sleeping. 

Nils  (places  a  box  on  the  floor,  opens  it,  and  begins  to  take 
out  aspersorium,  censer,  chrismatory,  palms,  and  candles).  That 
means  we  can't  go  to  work  yet. 

Marten.  If  we  have  waited  all  this  time,  we  can  af- 
ford to  wait  a  little  longer — provided  that  damned  priest 
does  n't  show  up. 

Nils.  Master  Olof,  you  mean?  —  Do  you  think  that 
fellow  out  there  noticed  anything? 

Marten.  What  do  I  care?  As  soon  as  the  old  woman 
gives  up  the  coin,  I  am  free. 

Nils.  You're  a  pretty  thorough-paced  rascal,  you  are! 

Marten.  Yes,  but  I  am  getting  tired  of  it.  I  am  begin- 
ning to  long  for  peace.  Do  you  know  what  life  is? 

Nils.  No. 

Marten.  Pleasure!  "The  flesh  was  God!"  Isn't  that 
the  way  it's  written  somewhere? 

Nils.  "The  Word  became  flesh,"  you  mean? 

Marten.  Oh,  yes — of  course! 

Nils.  You  might  have  been  a  pretty  big  man,  with  your 
head! 

Marten.  Yes,  indeed!  That's  what  they  feared,  and 
that 's  why  they  whipped  the  soul  out  of  my  body  in  the 
convent — for  after  all  I  had  a  soul  once!  But  now  there  's 
nothing  but  body  left,  and  now  the  body  is  going  to  have 
its  turn. 

Nils.  And  I  suppose  they  whipped  all  conscience  out  of 
you  at  the  same  time? 


ACT  FOURTH  93 

Marten.  Well,  practically.  —  But  now  I  want  that  re- 
cipe for  spiced  Rochelle  which  you  were  talking  of  when 
we  fell  asleep  out  there. 

Nils.  Did  I  say  Rochelle?  I  meant  claret.  That  is,  it 
can  be  either  the  one  or  the  other.  Well,  you  take  a  gallon 
of  wine  and  half  a  pound  of  cardamom  that  has  been  well 
cleaned  — 

Marten.  Hush — damn  you!  She  is  moving.  Out  with 
the  book! 

Nils  (keeps  on  reading  in  an  undertone  during  the  following 
scene). 

Aufer  immensam,  Deus  aufer  iram; 
Et  cruentatum  cohibe  flagellum : 
Nee  scelus  nostrum  proferes  ad  tequam 
Fender  e  lane  em. 

Mother.  Is  that  you,  Marten? 

Marten.  It 's  Brother  Nils  praying  to  the  Holy  Virgin. 
(Nils  lights  the  censer  without  interrupting  his  reading?) 

Mother.  What  a  precious  boon  to  hear  the  word  of  the 
Lord  in  the  sacred  tongue! 

Marten.  No  sweeter  sacrifice  is  known  to  God  than  the 
prayers  of  pious  souls. 

Mother.  Like  the  incense,  my  heart  is  set  on  fire  with 
holy  devotion. 

Marten  (sprinkling  her  with  holy  water).  The  stains  of 
sin  are  by  your  God  washed  off! 

Mother.  Amen!  —  Marten,  I  am  passing  away  —  The 
godlessness  of  the  King  makes  it  impossible  for  me  by 
earthly  gifts  to  strengthen  the  Holy  Church  in  her  power 
of  saving  souls.  You  are  a  pious  man — take  my  prop- 
erty and  pray  for  me  and  for  my  children.  Pray  that  the 


94  MASTER  OLOF 

Almighty  may  turn  their  hearts  away  from  all  lies,  so  that 
some  time  we  may  meet  again  in  heaven. 

Marten  (taking  the  bag  of  money  she  hands  htm).  Good- 
wife,  your  sacrifice  is  acceptable  to  the  Lord,  and  for  your 
sake  my  prayers  will  be  heard  by  God. 

Mother.  I  want  to  sleep  awhile  in  order  to  be  strong 
enough  to  receive  the  last  sacrament. 

Marten.  No  one  shall  disturb  your  final  moments — not 
even  those  who  were  your  children  once. 

Mother.  It  seems  cruel,  Father  Marten,  but  it 's  the  will 
of  God.  (She  falls  asleep',  Marten  and  Nils  withdraw  from 
the  bed.) 

Marten  (opening  the  bag  and  kissing  the  gold  coins).  What 
stores  of  pleasure  lie  hidden  beneath  the  hardness  of  this 
gold— Ah! 

Nils.  Are  we  going  now? 

Marten.  Oh,  we  might,  as  our  errand  here  is  done,  but 
I  think  it  would  be  a  pity  to  let  the  old  woman  die  unsaved. 

Nils.  Unsaved? 

Marten.  Yes! 

Nils.  Do  you  believe  in  that? 

Marten.  It's  hard  to  know  what  one  is  to  believe  now- 
adays. One  dies  happily  in  this  faith,  and  another  in  that. 
All  assert  that  they  have  found  the  truth. 

Nils.  And  if  you  were  to  die  now,  Marten  ? 

Marten.  That 's  out  of  the  question ! 

Nils.  But  if? 

Marten.  Then  I  suppose  I  should  go  to  heaven  like  the 
rest.  But  I  should  prefer  to  settle  a  small  account  with 
Master  Olof  first.  You  see,  there  is  one  pleasure  that  sur- 
passes all  the  rest,  and  that 's  the  pleasure  of  revenge. 

Nils.  What  has  he  done  to  you? 


ACT  FOURTH  95 

Marten.  He  has  dared  to  see  through  me;  he  has  ex- 
posed me;  he  can  read  what  I  am  thinking — Oh! 

Nils.  And  that 's  why  you  hate  him  ? 

Marten.  Is  n't  that  enough  ?  (Somebody  is  heard  knocking 
on  the  door  leading  to  the  street.}  Somebody  is  coming !  Read, 
damn  you! 

(Nils  begins  to  drone  out  the  same  verse  as  before.  The  sound 
of  a  key  being  inserted  in  the  lock  is  heard.  The  door  is  opened 
from  the  outside} 

Enter  Olof,  looking  greatly  agitated. 

Mother  (waking  up).  Father  Marten! 

Olof  (goes  to  the  bed).  Here  is  your  son,  mother!  Why 
did  n't  you  let  me  know  that  you  were  sick  ? 

Mother.  Farewell,  Olof!  I  forgive  you  all  the  evil  you 
have  done  to  me,  if  you  will  not  disturb  the  few  moments 
I  need  to  prepare  myself  for  heaven.  Father  Marten !  Bring 
here  the  sacred  ointment,  so  that  I  may  die  in  peace. 

Olof.  So  that's  why  you  didn't  call  me!  (He  catches 
sight  of  the  money  bag  which  Marten  has  forgotten  to  hide,  and 
snatches  it  away  from  the  monk}  Oh,  souls  are  being  bar- 
tered here !  And  this  was  to  be  the  price !  Leave  this  room 
and  this  death-bed!  Here  is  my  place,  not  yours! 

Marten.  You  mean  to  prevent  us  from  fulfilling  our 
office? 

Olof.  I  am  showing  you  the  door! 

Marten.  As  long  as  we  are  not  suspended,  we  are  doing 
our  duty  here  by  the  King's  authority, and  not  by  the  Pope's. 

Olof.  I  shall  cleanse  the  Church  of  the  Lord  without 
regard  to  the  will  of  King  or  Pope. 

Mother.  Will  you  plunge  my  soul  into  perdition,  Olof? 
Will  you  let  me  die  with  a  curse? 


96  MASTER  OLOF 

Olof.  Calm  yourself,  mother !  You  are  not  going  to  die  in 
a  lie.  Seek  your  God  in  prayer,  He  is  not  so  far  away  as  you 
believe. 

Marten.  A  man  who  won't  save  his  own  mother  from 
the  pangs  of  purgatory  must  be  the  Devil's  prophet  indeed. 

Mother.  Christ  Jesu,  help  my  soul! 

Olof.  Will  you  leave  this  room,  or  must  I  use  force? 
Take  away  that  rubbish!  (He  kicks  the  ritual  accessories 
across  the  floor?) 

Marten.  \  '11  go  if  you  '11  let  me  have  the  money  your 
mother  has  given  to  the  Church. 

Mother.  So  that 's  why  you  came,  Olof?  You  wanted 
my  gold !  Let  him  have  it,  Marten.  I'll  let  you  have  all  of 
it,  Olof,  if  you  will  only  leave  me  in  peace!  I'll  give  you 
more  than  that!  I'll  let  you  have  everything! 

Olof  (driven  to  despair}.  In  God's  name,  take  the  money 
and  go!  I  beg  you! 

Marten  (grabbing  the  bag  and  going  out  with  Nils). 
Where  the  Devil  is  abroad,  there  our  power  ends,  Dame 
Christine!  (To  Olof.)  As  a  heretic  you  are  lost  for  all  eter- 
nity !  As  a  law-breaker  you  will  get  your  punishment  right 
here!  Beware  of  the  King!  \Exeunt. 

Olof  (kneeling  beside  his  mother  s  bed).  Mother,  listen  to 
me  before  you  die!  (The  Mother  has  lost  consciousness.)  Mo- 
ther, mother,  if  you  are  alive,  speak  to  your  son !  Forgive 
me,  but  I  could  not  act  except  as  I  have  done.  I  know  you 
have  been  suffering  all  your  life  for  my  sake.  You  have 
been  praying  to  God  that  I  should  keep  His  paths.  The 
Lord  has  heard  your  prayer.  Do  you  want  me  now  to 
render  your  whole  life  futile?  Do  you  want  me  now,  by 
obeying  you,  to  destroy  that  structure  which  has  cost  you 
so  much  in  toil  and  tears?  Forgive  me! 


ACT  FOURTH  97 

Mother.  Olof,  my  soul  is  no  longer  of  this  world — it 's 
out  of  another  life  I  speak  to  you :  turn  back !  Break  that 
unclean  bond  which  ties  your  body  only.  Take  back  the 
faith  you  got  from  me,  and  I  will  forgive  you! 

Olof  (weeping  bitterly).  Mother!  Mother! 

Mother.  Swear  that  you  will  do  it! 

Olof  (after  long  silence).  No! 

Mother.  The  curse  of  God  is  upon  you — I  see  Him — 
I  see  His  angry  look — Help  me,  Holy  Virgin! 

Olof.  That  is  not  the  God  of  love! 

Mother.  It  is  the  God  of  retribution!  —  It  is  you  who 
have  provoked  His  ire — and  it  is  you  who  now  cast  me 
into  the  flames  of  His  wrath!  —  Cursed  be  the  hour  when 
I  bore  you!  (She  dies.} 

Olof.  Mother !  Mother !  (He  takes  her  hand}  She 's  dead ! 
And  she  has  not  forgiven  me!  —  Oh, if  your  soul  be  still 
within  this  room,  behold  your  son :  I  will  do  your  will, 
and  what  was  sacred  to  you  shall  be  sacred  to  me!  (He 
lights  the  tall  wax  candles  left  behind  by  the  friars  and  places 
them  around  the  bed}  You  shall  have  the  consecrated  can- 
dles that  are  to  light  your  road.  (He  puts  a  palm  leaf  in 
her  hand}  And  with  this  palm  of  peace  shall  come  forget- 
fulness  of  that  last  struggle  with  what  was  earthly.  Oh, 
mother,  if  you  see  me  now, then  you  must  forgive  me! 
(In  the  meantime  the  sun  has  risen,  and  the  red  glow  of  its 
first  rays  lights  up  the  curtains;  at  the  sight  of  it,  Olof  leaps 
to  his  feet}  You  make  my  candles  fade,  O  morning  sun! 
You  have  more  love  than  I !  (He  goes  to  the  window  and 
opens  it} 

Lars  (entering  softly  and  looking  around  surprised}.  Olof! 

Olof  (putting  his  arms  around  him}.  Brother,  all  is  over! 

Lars  (goes  to  the  bed  and  kneels  for  a  moment;  then  he  rises 


98  MASTER  OLOF 

again).  She  is  dead!  (He  prays  silently?)  You  were  here 
alone? 

Olof.  It  was  you  who  let  in  the  monks. 

Lars.  And  you  who  drove  them  out. 

Olof.  That  should  have  been  your  task. 

Lars.  She  forgave  you? 

Olof.  She  died  with  a  curse  on  her  lips.  (Pause.) 

Lars  (pointing  to  the  candles).  Who  arranged  these  cere- 
monies? (Pause?) 

Olof  (irritated  and  humiliated}.  I  weakened  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

Lars.  So  you  are  human,  after  all  ?  I  thank  you  for  it ! 

Olof.  Are  you  mocking  my  weakness? 

Lars.  I  am  praising  it. 

Olof.  And  I  am  cursing  it!  —  God  in  heaven,  am.  I  not 
right  ? 

Lars.  No,  you  are  wrong. 

Enter  Christine  while  Lars  is  still  speaking. 

Christine.  You  are  too  much  in  the  right ! 

Olof.  Christine,  what  are  you  doing  here? 

Christine.  It  was  so  silent  and  lonesome  at  home. 

Olof.  I  asked  you  not  to  come  here. 

Christine.  I  thought  I  might  be  of  some  use,  but  I  see 
now — Another  time  I  shall  stay  at  home. 

Olof.  You  have  been  awake  all  night? 

Christine.  That  is  nothing!  I  will  go  now  if  you  tell 
me  to! 

Olof.  Go  in  there  and  rest  a  little  while  we  talk. 
(Christine  begins  absentmindedly  to  extinguish  the  candles} 

Olof.  What  are  you  doing,  dear? 

Christine.  Why,  it  is  full  daylight. 


ACT  FOURTH  99 

(Lars  gives  Olof  a  significant  glance?) 

Olof.  My  mother  is  dead,  Christine. 

Christine  (as  she  goes  to  Olof  to  let  him  kiss  her  on  the  fore- 
head, the  look  on  her  face  is  compassionate  but  cold}.  I  am  sorry 
for  your  loss.  [Exit  Christine. 

(Pause.  The  brothers  look  for  a  moment  in  the  direction  where 
she  disappeared,  then  at  each  other.} 

Lars.  I  beg  you,  Olof,  as  your  friend  and  brother,  don't 
go  on  as  you  have  been  doing. 

Olof.  The  old  story!  But  he  who  has  put  his  axe  to  the 
tree  cannot  draw  back  until  the  tree  is  down.  The  King  has 
betrayed  our  cause.  Now  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  for  it. 

Lars.  The  King  is  wise. 

Olof.  He  is  a  miser,  a  traitor,  and  a  protector  of  the 
nobility.  First  he  uses  me  to  hunt  his  game,  and  then  he 
wants  to  kick  me  out. 

Lars.  He  sees  farther  than  you  do.  If  you  were  to  go 
to  three  million  people,  telling  them:  "Your  faith  is  false; 
believe  my  words  instead" — do  you  think  it  possible  that 
they  would  at  once  cast  aside  their  most  intimate  and 
most  keenly  experienced  conviction,  which  until  then  had 
been  a  support  to  them  in  sorrow  as  well  as  in  joy?  No, 
the  life  of  the  soul  would  be  in  a  bad  condition,  indeed, 
if  all  the  old  things  could  be  disposed  of  so  quickly. 

Olof.  But  it  is  not  so.  The  whole  people  is  full  of  doubt. 
Among  the  priests  there  is  hardly  one  who  knows  what 
to  believe — if  he  cares  to  believe  anything  at  all.  Every- 
thing is  ready  for  the  new,  and  it  is  only  you  who  are  to 
blame — you  weaklings  whose  consciences  will  not  permit 
you  to  sow  doubt  where  nothing  but  a  feeble  faith  remains, 

Lars.  Look  out,  Olof!  You  wish  to  play  the  part  of 
God. 


ioo  MASTER  OLOF 

Olof.  Well,  that  is  what  we  must  do,  for  I  don't  think 
that  He  Himself  intends  to  come  down  to  us  any  more. 

Lars.  You  are  tearing  down  and  tearing  down,  Olof,  so 
that  soon  there  will  be  nothing  left,  and  when  people  ask, 
u  What  do  we  get  instead  ?"you  always  answer,"  Not  this," 
"Not  that,"  but  never  once  do  you  answer,  "This." 

Olof.  Presumptuous  man!  Do  you  think  faith  can  be 
given  by  one  to  another?  Do  you  think  that  Luther  has 
given  us  anything  new?  No!  He  has  merely  torn  away  the 
screens  that  had  been  placed  around  the  light.  The  new 
that  I  want  is  doubt  of  the  old,  not  because  it  is  old,  but  be- 
cause it  is  decaying.  (Lars  points  toward  their  mother  s  body.} 
I  know  what  you  mean.  She  was  too  old,  and  I  thank 
God  that  she  is  dead.  Now  I  am  free — only  now!  God 
has  willed  it! 

Lars.  Either  you  have  lost  your  senses,  or  you  are  a 
wicked  man! 

Olof.  Don't  reproach  me!  I  have  as  much  respect  for 
our  mother's  memory  as  you  have,  but  if  she  had  not  died 
now,  I  don't  know  how  far  my  sacrifices  might  have 
gone.  Have  you  noticed  in  the  springtime,  brother,  how 
the  fallen  leaves  of  yesteryear  cover  the  ground  as  if  to 
smother  all  the  young  things  that  are  coming  out?  What 
do  these  do  ?  They  push  aside  the  withered  leaves,  or  pass 
right  through  them,  because  they  must  get  up! 

Lars.  You  are  right  to  a  certain  extent.  —  Olof,  you 
broke  the  laws  of  the  Church  during  a  time  of  lawless- 
ness and  unrest.  What  could  be  forgiven  then  must  be 
punished  now.  Don't  force  the  King  to  appear  worse  than 
he  is.  Don't  let  your  scorn  for  the  law  and  your  wilful- 
ness  force  him  to  punish  a  man  to  whom  he  acknowledges 
himself  indebted. 


ACT  FOURTH  101 

Olof.  Nothing  is  more  wilful  than  his  own  rule,  and  he 
must  learn  to  tolerate  the  same  thing  in  others.  Tell  me — 
you  have  taken  service  with  the  King — are  you  going  to 
work  against  me? 

Lars.  I  am. 

Olof.  Then  we  are  enemies,  and  that  is  what  I  need, 
for  the  old  ones  have  disappeared. 

Lars.  But  the  tie  of  blood,  Olof — 

Olof.  I  know  it  only  in  its  source,  which  is  the  heart. 

Lars.  Yet  you  wept  for  our  mother. 

Olof.  Weakness,  or  perhaps  a  touch  of  old  devotion 
and  gratitude,  but  not  because  of  the  tie  of  blood.  What 
is  it,  anyhow? 

Lars.  You  are  tired  out,  Olof. 

Olof.  Yes,  I  feel  exhausted;  I  have  been  awake  all 
night. 

Lars.  You  were  so  late  in  coming. 

Olof.  I  was  out. 

Lars.  Your  doings  seem  to  shun  the  daylight. 

Olof.  The  daylight  shuns  my  doings. 

Lars.  Beware  of  false  apostles  of  freedom ! 

Olof  (struggling  with  sleepiness  and  fatigue).  That's  a  self- 
contradictory  term.  Oh,  don't  talk  to  me — I  can't  stand 
any  more.  I  spoke  so  much  at  our  meeting — But  you  don't 
know  about  our  society — Concordia  res  parvts  crescunt — 
We  mean  to  continue  the  Reformation — Gert  is  a  far- 
sighted  man  —  I  seem  so  small  beside  him — Good-night, 
Lars!  (He  falls  asleep  on  a  chair.) 

Lars  (stands  looking  at  him  with  solicitude).  Poor  brother 
— may  God  protect  you!  (Resounding  blows  on  the  street 
door  are  heard.)  What 's  that?  (He  goes  to  the  window.) 

Gert  (outside).  For  God's  sake,  open ! 


102  MASTER  OLOF 

Lars.  Why,  it  is  n't  a  matter  of  life  and  death,  Father 
Gert.  [Exit. 

Gert  (outside).  In  God's  name,  let  me  in! 
Enter  Christine  with  a  blanket. 

Christine.  Olof,  why  are  they  knocking  like  that?  — 
He  's  asleep !  (She  wraps  him  up  in  the  blanket.}  Oh,  that  I 
were  Sleep,  so  that  you  might  flee  to  me  when  tired  out 
by  your  struggles ! 

( The  rattle  of  a  heavy  cart  is  heard;  then  the  cart  comes  to  a 
stop  outside  the  house?) 

Olof  (waking  up  with  a  start).  Is  it  five  already? 

Christine.  No,  it  is  only  three. 

Olof.  Was  n't  that  a  baker's  cart  I  heard  ? 

Christine.  I  don't  know,  but  I  don't  think  it  would  make 
such  a  noise.  (She  goes  to  the  window?)  Look,  Olof!  What 
can  this  be? 

Olof  (going  to  the  window).  The  headsman's  cart !  — No, 
it  is  n't  that. 

Christine.  It  is  a  hearse! 

Enter  Lars  and  Gert. 

Lars.  The  plague! 

All.  The  plague! 

Gert.  The  plague  is  here !  Christine,  my  child,  leave  this 
house!  The  angel  of  death  has  put  his  mark  upon  the 
gate. 

Olof.  Who  sent  the  cart? 

Gert.  The  man  who  put  the  black  cross  on  the  door. 
No  dead  body  must  be  left  a  moment  in  the  house. 

Olof.  Then  Marten  was  the  angel  of  death — and  all 
is  nothing  but  a  lie. 

Gert.  Look  out  of  the  window,  and  you'll  see  that  the 


ACT  FOURTH  103 

cart  is  loaded  full.  (Blows  are  heard  at  the  street  door  again.) 
You  hear!  They  're  waiting! 

Olof.  Without  proper  burial  ?  That  shall  never  be! 

Lars.  Without  ceremonies,  Olof! 

Gert.  Come  away  with  me,  Christine,  from  this  dreadful 
place!  I'll  take  you  out  of  the  city  to  some  healthier  spot. 

Christine.  I  will  stay  with  Olof  after  this.  If  you,  father, 
had  loved  me  a  little  less,  you  would  not  have  done  so 
much  harm. 

Gert.  Olof,  you  who  have  the  power,  command  her  to 
follow  me ! 

Olof.  I  set  her  free  from  your  tyranny  once,  you  selfish 
man,  and  she  shall  never  return  to  it  again. 

Gert.  Christine,  get  out  of  this  house,  at  least! 

Christine.  Not  a  step  until  Olof  orders  me. 

Olof.  I  will  no  longer  order  you  at  all,  Christine — re- 
member that ! 

Enter  several  Buriers. 

Burier.  I  've  come  for  a  body.  No  time  to  spare ! 

Olof.  Begone  from  here! 

Burier.  The  King's  order! 

Lars.  Consider  what  you  do, Olof!  The  law  demands  it! 

Gert.  This  is  no  time  to  hesitate!  The  crazy  mob  is 
aroused  against  you.  This  house  was  the  first  one  to  be 
marked,  and  they  are  crying:  "God's  punishment  upon 
the  heretic!" 

Olof  (kneeling  beside  the  bed).  Mother,  forgive!  (Rising.) 
Do  your  duty ! 
(The  Buriers  come  forward  and  begin  to  get  their  ropes  ready.) 

Gert  (aside  to  Olof)."  God's  punishment  upon  the  King" 
is  our  cry! 


ACT  V 

SCENE  i 

The  Cemetery  of  the  Convent  of  St.  Clara.  In  the  background 
appears  a  partly  demolished  convent  building,  from  which  a 
gang  of  workmen  are  carrying  out  timber  and  debris.  At  the 
left  is  a  mortuary  chapel.  Its  windows  are  lighted  from  within, 
and  whenever  the  door  is  opened,  a  brilliantly  illuminated  cru- 
cifix on  the  chancel  wall,  with  a  sarcophagus  standing  in  front 
of  it,  becomes  visible.  A  number  of  the  graves  have  been  opened. 
The  moon  is  just  rising  from  behind  the  ruined  convent.  Wind- 
rank  is  seated  outside  the  chapel  door.  Singing  is  heard  from 
within  the  chapel. 

Enter  Nils. 
Nils  (goes  up  to  Windrank).  Good  evening,  Windrank. 

Windrank.  Please  don't  talk  to  me. 

Nils.  What 's  the  matter  now  ? 

Windrank.  Did  n't  you  hear  what  I  told  you  ? 

Nils.  Has  your  scurvy  ending  as  a  skipper  affected  you 
so  badly  that  you  think  of  turning  monk? 

Windrank.  52,  53,  54,  55,  56,  57. 

Nils.  You  haven't  lost  your  reason,  have  you? 

Windrank.  58,  59,  60 — In  the  name  of  Jesu,  get  away 
from  here! 

Nils.  You  had  better  have  a  little  nightcap  with  me. 

Windrank.  64,65 — That's  what  I  expected!  Get  you 
gone,  tempter!  I'll  never  take  a  drink  again — until  the 
day  after  to-morrow. 

Nils.  But  it 's  a  fine  remedy  against  the  plague,  and 
with  all  this  cadaverous  stuff  about,  you  had  better  be 
careful. 


ACT  FIFTH  105 

Windrank.  70 — So  you  really  think  it 's  good  for  the 
plague  ? 

Nils.  Excellent! 

Windrank.  Only  a  drop,  then !  (He  drinks  from  the  bottle 
offered  him  by  Nils.) 

Nils.  Only  a  drop !  But  tell  me,  are  you  suffering  from 
vertigo  since  you  are  counting  to  a  hundred? 

Windrank.  Hush!  Hush!  There's  an  epoch  coming. 

Nils.  An  epoch? 

Windrank.  Yes,  the  day  after  to-morrow. 

Nils.  And  that's  why  you  keep  counting  like  that? 

Windrank.  No,  it 's  only  because  I  find  it  so  hard  to 
hold  my  tongue.  Now,  for  heaven's  sake,  keep  quiet !  Please 
go  away,  or  you'll  get  me  into  trouble!  —  71,  72,  73. 

Nils.  Who's  inside? 

Windrank.  74,  75. 

Nils.  Is  it  a  funeral? 

Windrank.  76,  77.  —  Go  to  hell,  won't  you! 

Nils.  Just  another  tiny  drop,  and  the  counting  will  be 
easier. 

Windrank.  Just  a  little  one — I  will!  (He  drinks.  Sing- 
ing is  heard  outside?) 

Nils.  Here  come  the  nuns  of  St.  Clara  to  celebrate  the 
memory  of  their  saint  for  the  last  time. 

Windrank.  That 's  fine  mummery  in  days  like  these 
when  everybody  is  getting  educated. 

Nils.  They  have  obtained  the  King's  permission.  You 
see,  the  plague  broke  out  in  the  parish  of  St.  Clara,  and 
some  believe  it  was  because  of  the  godless  destruction  of 
St.  Clara's  convent. 

Windrank.  And  now  they  mean  to  drive  away  the  plague 
with  singing — as  if  that  bugaboo  were  a  hater  of  music. 


io6  MASTER  OLOF 

But,  of  course,  it  wouldn't  be  a  wonder  if  he  did  flee  from 
their  hoarse  screeching. 

Nils.  Will  you  please  tell  me  who  has  dared  to  invade 
this  last  sanctuary — for  it's  here  the  bones  of  the  Saint 
are  to  be  deposited  before  the  place  is  torn  down  en- 
tirely. 

Windrank.  Then  there  '11  be  a  fight,  I  fear. 

The  singing  has  drawn  nearer.  A  procession  enters,  made  up 
of  Dominican  friars  and  Franciscan  nuns,  headed  by  Marten. 
They  come  to  a  halt  and  continue  singing,  while  the  workmen 
are  making  a  great  deal  of  noise  in  the  background. 

Procession. 

Cur  super  vermes  luteos  furorem 
Sumis,  O  magni  fabricator  orbis! 
£)uid  sumus  quam  fex,  putris,  umbra,  pulvis 
Glebaque  terra! 

Marten  (to  the  Abbess).  You  can  see,  my  sister,  how  the 
abode  of  the  Lord  has  been  despoiled. 

Abbess.  The  Lord  who  has  delivered  us  into  the  hands 
of  the  Egyptians  will  also  set  us  free  in  due  time. 

Marten  (to  the  workmen).  Cease  working,  and  do  not  dis- 
turb our  pious  task! 

Overseer.  Our  orders  are  to  work  day  and  night  until 
this  den  has  been  torn  down. 

Abbess.  Alas,  that  unbelief  has  spread  so  far  down  among 
the  people! 

Marten.  We  are  celebrating  this  feast  with  the  permis- 
sion of  the  King. 

Overseer.  Well,  I  don't  mind ! 

Marten.  And  therefore  I  command  you  to  cease  your 
noise.  I  '11  appeal  directly  to  your  workmen,  whom  you 


ACT  FIFTH  107 

have  forced  into  this  shameless  undertaking.  —  I  '11  ask 
them  if  they  have  any  respect  whatever  left  for  holy  — 

Overseer.  You  had  better  not,  for  I  am  in  command 
here.  Furthermore,  I  can  tell  you  that  they  are  glad  enough 
to  have  a  chance  of  tearing  down  these  hornets'  nests  for 
which  they  themselves  have  had  to  pay — and  then,  too, 
they  are  pretty  thankful  to  earn  something  during  a  time 
of  famine.  (He  goes  toward  the  background.} 

Marten.  Let  us  forget  the  wickedness  and  tumult  of  this 
world.  Let  us  enter  the  sacred  place  and  pray  for  them. 

Abbess.  Lord,  Lord,  the  cities  of  Thy  sanctuary  are  laid 
waste!  Zion  is  laid  waste, and  Jerusalem  is  lying  desolate! 

Windrank.  100. — Nobody  can  get  in  here! 

The  Conspirators  (within  the  chapel}.  We  swear! 

Marten.  Who  has  dared  to  invade  the  chapel? 

Windrank.  It 's  no  more  a  chapel  since  it  has  become 
a  royal  storehouse. 

Abbess.  That 's  why  the  godless  one  gave  us  his  permis- 
sion ! 

The  door  of  the  chapel  is  thrown  open  and  the  conspirators  ap- 
pear; among  them  Olof,  Lars  Andersson,  Gert,  the  German, 
the  Dane,  the  Man  from  Smdland,  and  others. 

Olof  (much  excited}.  What  kind  of  buffoonery  is  this? 

Marten.  Make  way  for  the  handmaidens  of  St.  Clara ! 

Olof.  Do  you  think  your  idols  can  keep  away  the  plague 
that  God  has  sent  you  as  a  punishment?  Do  you  think  the 
Lord  will  find  those  pieces  of  bone  you  carry  in  the  box 
there  so  pleasant  that  He  forgives  all  your  dreadful  sins  ? 
Take  away  that  abomination!  (He  takes  the  reliquary  from 
the  Abbess  and  throws  it  into  one  of  the  open  graves.}  From 
dust  you  have  come,  and  to  dust  you  shall  return,  even  if 


io8  MASTER  OLOF 

your  name  was  Sancta  Clara  da  Spoleto  and  you  ate  only 
three  ounces  of  bread  a  day  and  slept  among  the  swine  at 
night!  (The  nuns  scream.} 

Marten.  If  you  fear  not  what  is  holy,  fear  at  least  your 
temporal  ruler.  Look  here !  He  has  still  so  much  respect 
left  for  divine  things  that  he  dreads  the  wrath  of  the  saint. 
(He  shows  a  document  to  Olof?) 

Olof.  Do  you  know  what  the  Lord  did  with  the  king 
of  the  Assyrians  when  he  permitted  the  worship  of  idols? 
He  smote  him  and  all  his  people.  Thus  the  righteous  is 
made  to  suffer  with  the  unrighteous.  In  the  name  of  the 
one  omnipotent  God,  I  declare  this  worship  of  Baal  abol- 
ished, even  if  all  the  kings  of  the  earth  give  their  permit. 
The  Pope  wanted  to  sell  my  soul  to  Satan,  but  I  tore  the 
contract  to  pieces — do  you  remember?  Should  I  then  fear 
a  King  who  wants  to  sell  his  people  to  the  Baalim  ?  (He 
tears  the  document  to  pieces?) 

Marten  (to  his  followers).  You  are  my  witnesses  that  he 
has  defamed  the  King. 

Olof  (to  his  followers).  And  you  are  my  witnesses  before 
God  that  I  have  led  the  people  of  a  godless  King  away 
from  him ! 

Marten.  Listen,  ye  faithful!  It  is  because  of  this  heretic 
that  God  has  smitten  us  with  the  plague — it  is  the  pun- 
ishment of  God,  and  it  fell  first  of  all  on  his  mother. 

Olof.  Listen,  ye  faithless  papists !  It  was  the  punishment 
of  the  Lord  on  me  because  I  had  served  Sennacherib 
against  Judah.  I  will  atone  my  crime  by  leading  Judah 
against  the  kings  of  the  Assyrians  and  the  Egyptians. 
(The  moon  has  risen  in  the  meantime.  It  is  very  red,  and  a 
fiery  glare  pervades  the  place.  The  crowd  is  frightened?) 

Olof  (mounting  one  of  the  graves).  Heaven  is  weeping 


ACT  FIFTH  109 

blood  over  your  sins  and  your  idolatry.  Punishment  shall 
be  meted  out,  for  those  in  authority  have  fallen  into  wrong- 
doing. Can't  you  see  that  the  very  graves  are  yawning  for 
prey— 

(Gert  seizes  Olof  by  the  arm,  whispers  to  him,  and  leads  him 
down  from  the  mound.  The  crowd  is  panic-stricken^) 

Abbess.  Give  us  back  our  reliquary,  so  that  we  may 
abandon  this  home  of  desolation. 

Marten.  It  is  better  to  let  the  bones  of  the  Saint  remain 
in  this  consecrated  soil  than  to  have  them  touched  by  the 
vile  hands  of  heretics ! 

Olof.  You  are  afraid  of  the  plague,  cowards  that  you 
are!  Is  your  faith  in  the  sacred  bones  no  stronger? 
(Gert  whispers  to  Olof  again.  The  procession  has  in  the  mean- 
time scattered,  so  that  only  a  part  of  it  remains  on  the  stage.) 

Olof  (to  Marten).  Now  you  should  be  satisfied,  you 
hypocrite !  Go  and  tell  him  whom  you  serve  that  a  box  of 
silver  is  about  to  be  buried  here,  and  he  '11  dig  it  out  of  the 
earth  with  his  own  nails.  Tell  him  that  the  moon,  which 
is  usually  made  of  silver,  has  turned  into  gold,  merely  to 
make  your  master  raise  his  eyes  toward  heaven  for  once. 
Tell  him  that  you,  by  your  blasphemous  buffooneries,  have 
succeeded  in  provoking  an  honest  man's  wrath — 

[Exeunt  Marten  and  the  members  of  the  procession. 

Gert.  Enough,  Olof!  (To  all  the  conspirators  except  Olof 
and  Lars.)  Leave  us,  please ! 

[Exeunt  the  conspirators,  exchanging  whispers. 

Gert  (to  Olof  and  Lars).  It 's  too  late  to  back  down  now ! 

Olof.  What  do  you  want,  Gert  —  speak! 

Gert  (showing  them  a  bound  volume).  Before  you  two, 
servants  of  God,  a  people  steps  forth  to  make  its  confes- 
sion. Do  you  acknowledge  your  oath? 


no  MASTER  OLOF 

Olof  and  Lars.  We  have  sworn ! 

Gert.  This  book  is  the  result  of  my  silent  labors.  On 
every  page  you  will  find  a  cry  of  distress,  a  sigh  from  thou- 
sands who  have  been  blind  enough  to  think  it  God's  will 
that  they  should  suffer  the  tyranny  of  one  man — who  have 
thought  it  their  duty  not  even  to  hope  for  liberation.  (Olof 
takes  the  volume  and  begins  to  read?)  You  shall  hear  com- 
plaints all  the  way  from  the  primeval  forests  of  Norrland 
down  to  the  Sound.  Out  of  the  wreckage  from  the  churches 
the  King  is  building  new  castles  for  the  nobility  and  new 
prisons  for  the  people.  You  shall  read  how  the  King  is 
bartering  away  law  and  justice  by  letting  murderers  escape 
their  punishment  if  they  seek  refuge  at  the  salt-works.  You 
shall  read  how  he  is  taxing  vice  by  letting  harlots  pay  for 
the  right  to  ply  their  traffic.  Yea,  the  very  fishes  of  the  riv- 
ers, the  water  of  the  sea  itself,  have  been  usurped  by  him. 
But  the  end  is  in  sight.  The  eyes  of  the  people  have  been 
opened.  There  is  seething  and  fermenting  everywhere.  Soon 
the  tyranny  will  be  crushed,  and  the  people  shall  be  free ! 

Olof.  Who  wrote  the  songs  in  this  book? 

Gert.  The  people!  These  are  songs  of  the  people — 
so  they  sing  who  feel  the  yoke  pressing.  I  have  visited  city 
and  country,  asking  them :  "Are  you  happy?"  These  are 
the  answers!  I  have  held  assizes.  Here  are  the  verdicts 
entered.  Do  you  believe  that  a  million  wills  may  conquer 
one  ?  Do  you  believe  that  God  has  bestowed  this  land  with 
all  its  human  souls  and  all  its  property  upon  a  single  man, 
for  him  to  deal  with  as  it  suits  his  pleasure  ?  Or  do  you  not 
rather  believe  that  he  should  do  the  will  of  all? — You  do 
not  answer?  You  are  awed,  I  see,  by  the  thought  that  it 
may  come  to  an  end!  Listen  to  my  confession!  To-mor- 
row the  oppressor  dies, and  you  shall  all  be  free! 


ACT  FIFTH  in 

Olof  and  Lars.  What  are  you  saying? 

Gert.  You  did  n't  understand  what  I  was  talking  about 
at  our  meetings. 

Olof.  You  have  deceived  us! 

Gert.  Not  at  all!  You  are  perfectly  free.  Two  voices  less 
mean  nothing.  Everything  is  prepared. 

Lars.  Have  you  considered  the  consequences? 

Gert.  Fool !  Is  it  not  for  the  sake  of  the  consequences 
that  I  have  done  all  this? 

Olof.  Supposing  Gert  be  right — what  do  you  say,  Lars  ? 

Lars.  I  was  n't  born  to  lead. 

Olof.  All  are  born  to  lead,  but  all  are  not  willing  to  sac- 
rifice the  flesh. 

Gert.  Only  he  who  has  the  courage  to  face  scorn  and 
ridicule  can  lead.  For  hatred  is  as  nothing  compared  with 
the  laughter  that  kills. 

Olof.  And  if  it  should  miscarry  ? 

Gert.  Dare  to  face  that,  too!  You  don't  know  that 
Thomas  Minister  has  established  a  new  spiritual  kingdom 
at  Muhlhausen.  You  don't  know  that  all  Europe  is  in  re- 
volt. Who  was  Dacke,  if  not  a  defender  of  the  oppressed? 
What  have  the  Dalecarlians  meant  by  all  their  rebellions, 
if  not  to  defend  their  freedom  against  him  who  broke  his 
plighted  faith?  He  does  such  things  and  goes  unpunished, 
but  when  they  want  to  defend  themselves,  then  he  raises 
the  cry  of  revolt  and  treason. 

Olof.  So  this  is  the  point  to  which  you  wanted  to  lead 
me,  Gert  ? 

Gert.  Have  you  not  been  led  here  by  the  current  ?  You 
will,  but  do  not  dare!  To-morrow,  in  the  church, the  mine 
will  go  off,  and  that  will  be  a  signal  for  the  people  to  rise 
and  choose  a  ruler  after  their  own  heart. 


ii2  MASTER  OLOF 

Olof  (turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  boo£).  If  it  be  the  will 
of  all,  then  nobody  can  stop  it.  Gert,  let  me  take  this  book 
to  the  King  and  show  him  what  is  the  will  of  his  people, 
and  he  will  grant  them  their  rights. 

Gert.  Oh,  you  child!  Fora  moment  he  may  be  scared,  and 
perhaps  restore  a  silver  pitcher  to  some  church.  Then  he  '11 
point  toward  heaven  and  say:  "It  is  not  by  my  own  will 
that  I  sit  here  and  do  you  wrong,  but  by  the  will  of  God ! " 

Olof.  Then  the  will  of  God  be  done! 

Gert.  But  how? 

Olof.  He  must  die  that  all  may  live.  Murderer,  ingrate, 
traitor — those  will  be  my  names,  perchance.  I  am  sacri- 
ficing everything,  even  my  honor,  my  conscience,  and  my 
faith — could  I  possibly  give  more  for  those  pitiable  ones 
who  are  crying  for  salvation  ?  Let  us  go  ere  I  repent ! 

Gert.  Even  if  you  did,  it  would  already  be  too  late. 
Don't  you  know  that  Marten  is  a  spy,  and  perhaps  sen- 
tence has  already  been  pronounced  against  the  rebel ! 

Olof.  Well,  I  won't  repent — and  why  should  I  repent 
of  an  act  that  implies  the  carrying  out  of  God's  own  judg- 
ment? Forward,  then,  in  the  name  of  the  Lord.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Harlot^  who  kneels  at  a  grave  which  she  has  strewn 
with  flowers. 

Harlot.  Hast  Thou  punished  me  enough  now,  O  Lord, 
to  pardon  me? 

Enter  Christine  quickly. 

Christine.  Have  you  seen  Master  Olof,  goodwife? 

Harlot.  Are  you  his  friend  or  his  enemy  ? 

Christine.  Do  you  mean  to  insult  me? 

Harlot.  Pardon  me!  I  haven't  seen  him  since  the  last 
time  I  prayed. 


ACT  FIFTH  113 

Christine.  You  look  so  sorrowful!  Oh,  I  know  you  now! 
It  was  you  to  whom  Olof  was  talking  that  night  in  Great- 
church. 

Harlot.  You  must  n't  let  it  be  seen  that  you  are  talking 
to  me.  You  don't  know  who  I  am,  do  you  ? 

Christine.  Oh,  yes,  I  know. 

Harlot.  You  know — so  they  have  told  you? 

Christine.  Olof  told  me. 

Harlot.  O  my  God!  And  don't  you  despise  me? 

Christine.  You  are  an  unfortunate,  down-trodden  wo- 
man, Olof  told  me.  Why  should  I  despise  misfortune? 

Harlot.  Then  you  cannot  be  happy  yourself? 

Christine.  No,  we  have  shared  the  same  fate. 

Harlot.  I  am  not  the  only  one,  then!  Tell  me,  who  was 
the  worthless  man  to  whom  you  gave  your  love? 

Christine.  Worthless? 

Harlot.  Oh,  pardon — to  one  who  loves,  no  one  seems 
worthless!  To  whom  did  you  give  your  love? 

Christine.  You  know  Master  Olof,  don't  you  ? 

Harlot.  Oh,  tell  me  that  it  is  not  true  !  Don't  rob  me 
of  my  faith  in  him,  too !  It  is  the  only  thing  I  have  left 
since  God  took  my  child! 

Christine.  You  have  had  a  child?  Then  you  have  been 
happy  once. 

Harlot.  I  thank  God,  who  did  not  permit  my  son  to  find 
out  the  unworthiness  of  his  mother. 

Christine.  Have  you  been  guilty  of  any  crime,  that  you 
speak  so? 

Harlot.  I  have  just  buried  it. 

Christine.  Your  child?  How  can  you!  And  I  pray  God 
every  day  to  grant  me  a  little  one  —  so  that  I  may  at  least 
have  one  creature  to  love! 


n4  MASTER  OLOF 

Harlot.  Oh,  poor  child,  pray  to  God  that  He  preserve 
you  from  it! 

Christine.  I  don't  understand  you,  goodwife ! 

Harlot.  Don't  call  me  that !  You  know  who  I  am,  don't 
you? 

Christine.  Well,  don't  they  offer  prayers  in  the  churches 
for  those  who  have  hopes? 

Harlot.  Not  for  such  as  we! 

Christine.  Such  as  we? 

Harlot.  They  pray  for  the  others  and  curse  us. 

Christine.  What  do  you  mean  by  "the  others"  ?  I  don't 
understand  you  at  all. 

Harlot.  Do  you  know  the  wife  of  Master  Olof  ? 

Christine.  Why,  that  is  I ! 

Harlot.  You?  Oh,  why  did  n't  I  guess  at  once?  Can  you 
forgive  me  a  moment's  doubt?  How  could  vice  look  like 
you  and  him?  Alas!  You  must  leave  me.  You  are  a  child, 
still  ignorant  of  wickedness.  You  must  not  be  talking  to 
me  longer.  God  bless  you  !  Good-bye !  (She  starts  to  leave.} 

Christine.  Don't  leave  me !  Whoever  you  be,  for  God's 
sake,  stay!  They  have  broken  into  our  house,  and  my  hus- 
band is  not  to  be  found.  Take  me  away  from  here — home 
to  yourself — anywhere.  You  must  be  a  good  woman — 
you  cannot  be  wicked — 

Harlot  (interrupting  her).  If  I  tell  you  that  the  brutality 
of  the  crowd  would  n't  hurt  you  half  so  much  as  my  com- 
pany, then  perhaps  you  will  forgive  me  for  leaving — 

Christine.  Who  are  you? 

Harlot.  I  am  an  outcast  on  whom  has  been  fulfilled  that 
curse  which  God  hurled  at  woman  after  the  fall  of  our 
first  parents.  Ask  me  no  more,  for  if  I  told  you  more,  your 
contempt  would  goad  me  to  a  self-defence  that  would  be 


ACT  FIFTH  115 

still  more  contemptible.  —  Here  comes  somebody  who  per- 
haps will  be  generous  enough  to  escort  you,  if  you  prom- 
ise to  let  him  have  your  honor  and  virtue  and  eternal  peace 
for  his  trouble — for  that  is  probably  the  least  he  will  ac- 
cept for  his  protection  at  such  a  late  hour  as  this !  Please 
forgive  me — it  is  not  at  you  that  I  am  railing. 

Enter  Windrank,  intoxicated. 

Windrank.  Why  the  devil  can't  a  fellow  be  left  alone, 
even  here  among  the  corpses?  See  here,  my  good  ladies, 
please  don't  ask  me  anything,  for  now  I  can't  guarantee 
that  I  won't  answer.  The  day  after  to-morrow  I  '11  tell 
you  all  about  it,  for  then  it  '11  be  too  late.  Perhaps  you  're 
some  of  those  nuns  that  have  been  made  homeless?  Well, 
although  women  are  nothing  but  women,  I  don't  think 
I  have  any  right  to  be  impolite,  for  all  that  the  sun  set 
long  ago.  Of  course,  there  is  an  old  law  saying  that  no- 
body can  be  arrested  after  sunset,  but  though  the  law  is  a 
bugbear,  I  think  it 's  too  polite  to  insist  on  anything  when 
it's  a  question  of  ladies.  Hush,  hush,  tongue!  Why,  the 
old  thing  is  going  like  a  spinning-wheel,  but  that  comes 
from  that  infernal  gin!  Why  should  I  be  dragged  into 
this  kind  of  thing?  Of  course,  I  '11  get  well  paid  and  be  a 
man  of  means,  but  don't  believe  that  I  am  doing  it  for  the 
sake  of  the  money!  It's  done  now,  but  I  don't  want  to — 
I  don't  want  to !  I  want  to  sleep  in  peace  nights  and  have 
no  ghosts  to  trouble  me.  Suppose  I  go  and  tell?  No,  then 
they  '11  arrest  me.  Suppose  somebody  else  would  go  and 
tell?  Perhaps  one  of  you  nuns  might  be  so  kind  as  to  do  it? 

Christine  (who  has  been  conferring  with  the  Harlot).  If  you 
have  anything  on  your  conscience  that  troubles  you,  please 
tell  us. 


n6  MASTER  OLOF 

Windrank.  Am  I  to  tell?  That 's  just  what  I  want  to  get 
out  of,  but  this  is  horrible,  and  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer. 
I  am  forced  to  do  it.  Why  should  I  be  the  one?  I  don't 
want  to. 

Christine.  My  dear  man,  you  mean  to  commit — 

Windrank.  A  murder.  Who  told  you?  Well,  thank  God 
that  you  know!  By  all  means, go  ahead  and  tell  about  it — 
at  once — or  I'll  have  no  peace — no  peace  in  all  eternity! 

Christine  (recovering  from  the  first  shock).  Why  should 
you  murder  him? 

Windrank.  Oh,  there  are  such  a  lot  of  reasons.  Just 
look  at  the  way  he  is  tearing  down  your  nunneries. 

Christine.  The  King? 

Windrank.  Yes,  of  course!  The  father  and  liberator  of 
his  country!  Of  course,  he  's  an  oppressor,  but  that 's  no 
reason  why  he  should  be  murdered. 

Christine.  When  is  it  going  to  happen? 

Windrank.  Why,  to-morrow — in  Greatchurch — right 
in  church!  [At  a  signal  from  Christine,  the  Harlot  leaves. 

Christine.  How  could  they  pick  you  for  such  a  deed? 

Windrank.  Well,  you  see,  I  have  a  connection  or  two 
among  the  church  attendants,  and  then  I  am  poor,  of 
course.  What  the  devil  does  it  matter  who  puts  the  match 
to  the  powder,  if  only  some  shrewd  fellow  is  pointing  the 
gun  ?  And  then  we  have  several  other  little  schemes  in  re- 
serve, although  I  'm  to  fire  the  first  shot.  But  why  don't 
you  run  off"  and  tell  about  it? 

Christine.  It  has  already  been  done. 

Windrank.  Well,  God  be  thanked  and  praised!  Good- 
bye, there  goes  all  my  money! 

Christine.  Tell  me  who  you  are,  you  conspirators. 

Windrank.  No,  that  I  won't  tell! 


ACT  FIFTH  117 

Enter  Nils.  He  crosses  the  stage  followed  by  a  troop  of  soldiers 
and  a  crowd  of  people. 

Christine.  Do  you  see  that  they  are  already  looking  for 
you? 

Windrank.  I  wash  my  hands  of  it. 

Nils  (goes  up  to  Windrank  without  noticing  Christine). 
Have  you  seen  Olof  Pedersson? 

Windrank.  Why? 

Nils.  Because  he  is  wanted. 

Windrank.  No,  I  have  n't  seen  him.  Are  there  any 
others  wanted? 

Nils.  Yes,  many. 

Windrank.  No,  I  have  n't  seen  any  of  them. 

Nils.  Well,  it  will  soon  be  your  turn.  \JLxit. 

Christine.  Are  they  looking  for  the  conspirators  ? 

Windrank.  What  a  question !  Now  I  'm  going  to  clear 
out.  Good-bye! 

Christine.  Tell  me  before  you  go — 

Windrank.  Haven't  time! 

Christine.  Is  Master  Olof  one  of  them  ? 

Windrank.  Of  course!  (Christine  sinks  down  unconscious 
on  one  of  the  graves.  Windrank  is  suddenly  sobered  and  gen- 
uinely moved.)  Good  Lord  in  heaven,  it  must  be  his  wife! 
(He  goes  to  Christine.}  I  think  I  've  killed  her!  Oh,  Hans, 
Hans,  all  you  can  do  now  is  to  get  a  rope  for  yourself! 
What  business  did  you  have  to  get  mixed  up  with  the  high 
and  mighty?  —  Come  here,  somebody,  and  help  a  poor 
woman ! 

Enter  Olof,  led  by  soldiers  carrying  torches',  as  he  catches  sight 
of  Christine,  he  tears  himself  loose  and  throws  himself  on  his 
knees  beside  her. 


n8  MASTER  OLOF 

Ohf.  Christine! 

Christine.  Olof!  You're  alive!  Come  away  from  here 
and  let  us  go  home! 

Olof  (overwhelmed}.  It's  too  late! 

SCENE  2 

Within  Greatchurch.  Olof  and  Gert,  dressed  as  penitents, 
stand  in  the  pillory  near  the  entrance.  The  organ  is  playing 
and  the  bells  are  ringing.  The  service  is  just  ended,  and  the 
people  are  leaving  the  church.  The  Sexton  and  his  wife  are 
standing  by  themselves  in  a  corner  near  the  footlights. 
Sexton.  Lars  the  Chancellor,  he  was  pardoned,  but  not 
Master  Olof. 

Wife.  The  Chancellor  has  always  been  a  man  of  peace 
and  has  never  stirred  up  any  trouble,  so  I  can't  under- 
stand how  he  could  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  such 
dreadful  things. 

Sexton.  The  Chancellor  has  always  had  a  queer  streak, 
although  he  has  never  said  much,  and  though  he  was  par- 
doned, it  cost  him  everything  he  had.  I  can't  help  being 
sorry  for  Master  Olof;  I  have  always  had  a  liking  for  him, 
even  though  he  has  been  a  fire-brand. 

Wife.  Well,  what 's  the  use  of  making  a  young  fellow 
like  that  pastor? 

Sexton.  Of  course,  he  's  rather  young,  and  that  has  been 
his  main  fault,  but  I  'm  sure  time  will  cure  it. 

Wife.  What  nonsense  you  are  talking,  seeing  that  he's 
going  to  die  to-day. 

Sexton.  Well,  Lord,  Lord,  if  I  had  n't  clean  forgotten 
about  it!  But  then  it  doesn't  seem  quite  right  to  me, 
either. 


ACT  FIFTH  119 

Wife.  Do  you  know  if  he  has  repented  ? 

Sexton.  I  doubt  very  much,  for  I  am  sure  his  neck  is 
just  as  stiff  as  ever. 

Wife.  But  I  suppose  he'll  thaw  out  a  little  now,  when 
he  sees  his  class  of  children  whom  they  would  n't  let  him 
prepare  for  confirmation. 

Sexton.  Well,  I  must  say  that  the  King  can  be  pretty 
mean  when  he  turns  that  side  to.  Now  he  is  making  the 
pastor  do  church  penance  the  very  same  day  his  children 
are  being  confirmed.  It 's  almost  as  bad  as  when  he  made 
the  dean  drink  with  the  headsman,  or  when  he  sent  those 
two  prelates  riding  through  the  city  with  crowns  of  birch 
bark  on  their  heads. 

Wife.  And  his  own  brother  Lars  has  been  sent  to  shrive 
him. 

Sexton.  See,  here  come  the  children!  How  sad  they're 
looking — well,  I  don't  wonder.  I  think  I  '11  have  to  go  in 
and  have  a  cry  myself — 

Enter  the  children  about  to  be  confirmed,  boys  and  girls.  They 
begin  to  march  past  Olof,  carrying  bunches  of  flowers  in  their 
hands.  They  look  sad  and  keep  their  eyes  on  the  ground.  A  num- 
ber of  older  people  accompany  the  children.  A  few  curious  per- 
sons point  out  Olof  and  are  rebuked  by  others.  Last  of  all  the 
children  in  the  procession  comes  Vilhelm,  one  of  the  scholars  with 
whom  Olof  was  seen  playing  in  the  First  Act.  He  stops  timidly 
in  front  of  him,  kneels,  and  drops  his  bunch  of  flowers  at  the 
feet  of  Olof, who  does  not  notice  it  because  he  has  pulled  down  the 
hood  of  his  penitential  robe  so  that  it  hides  his  face.  Some  of  the 
people  mutter  disapprovingly, while  others  show  signs  of  pleasure. 
Marten  comes  forward  to  take  away  the  flowers,  but  is  pushed 
back  by  the  crowd.  Soldiers  clear  a  path  for  Lars  Pedersson, 


120  MASTER  OLOF 

who  appears  in  canonicals.  The  crowd  disappears  gradually, 
leaving  Lars,  Olof,  and  Gert  alone  on  the  stage.  The  playing 
of  the  organ  ceases,  but  the  bells  continue  to  toll. 

Lars.  Olof,  the  King  has  refused  to  listen  to  the  petition 
for  pardon  submitted  by  the  City  Corporation.  Are  you 
prepared  to  die? 

Olof.  I  am  not  able  to  think  so  far. 

Lars.  I  have  been  ordered  to  prepare  you. 

Olof.  That  will  have  to  be  done  in  haste,  for  my  blood 
is  still  running  quickly  through  my  veins. 

Lars.  Have  you  repented? 

Olof.  No! 

Lars.  Do  you  want  to  pass  into  eternity  with  an  unfor- 
giving mind? 

Olof.  Oh,  put  aside  the  formulas,  if  you  want  me  to 
listen  to  you.  I  can't  think  that  I  am  going  to  die  now — 
there  's  far  too  much  of  life  and  strength  left  in  me. 

Lars.  I  must  tell  you  that  I  don't  think  so  either,  and 
that  it  is  for  a  new  life  in  this  world  I  am  trying  to  pre- 
pare you. 

Olof.  Then  I  may  live? 

Lars.  If  you  will  admit  that  you  were  mistaken  in  the 
past,  and  if  you  will  take  back  what  you  have  said  about 
the  King. 

Olof.  How  could  I?  That  would  be  to  die  indeed! 

Lars.  This  was  what  I  had  to  tell  you.  Now  you  must 
decide  for  yourself. 

Olof.  One  does  n't  parley  about  one's  convictions. 

Lars.  Even  a  mistake  may  turn  into  conviction.  I  shall 
leave  you  to  think  the  matter  over.  [Exit. 

Gert.  Our  harvest  was  n't  ready.  It  takes  a  lot  of  snow 


ACT  FIFTH  121 

to  make  the  fall  crops  ripen — nay,  centuries  must  pass 
before  you  will  even  see  the  first  shoots.  All  the  conspirators 
are  under  arrest,  they  say,  and  te  deums  are  sung  on  that 
account.  But  they  are  mistaken;  conspirators  are  abroad 
everywhere  —  in  the  royal  apartments,  in  the  churches, 
and  in  the  market-places — but  they  dare  not  do  what  we 
have  dared.  And  yet  they  '11  reach  that  point  some  time. 
Good-bye,  Olof !  You  must  live  a  little  longer,  for  you  are 
young.  I  shall  die  with  the  utmost  pleasure.  The  name 
of  every  new  martyr  becomes  the  rallying-cry  for  a  new 
host.  Don't  believe  that  a  human  soul  was  ever  set  on  fire 
by  a  lie.  Don't  ever  distrust  those  feelings  that  shake  you 
to  your  inmost  soul  when  you  have  seen  some  one  suffer 
spiritual  or  physical  oppression.  If  the  whole  world  tell 
you  that  you  are  wrong,  believe  your  own  heart  just  the 
same — if  you  are  brave  enough  to  do  so.  The  day  when 
you  deny  your  self — then  you  are  dead,  and  eternal  per- 
dition will  seem  a  mercy  to  one  who  has  been  guilty  of 
the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost. 

Olof.  You  speak  of  my  release  as  though  it  were  a  cer- 
tainty. 

Gert.  The  Corporation  has  offered  500  ducats  for  your 
ransom,  and  if  it  cost  only  2000  to  get  Birgitta  declared 
a  saint,  then  500  should  suffice  to  get  you  declared  guilt- 
less. The  King  does  n't  dare  to  take  your  life! 

Enter  the  Lord  High  Constable,  followed  by  the  Headsman 
and  soldiers. 

Constable.  Take  away  Gert  the  Printer. 

Gert  (to  Olof,  as  he  is  being  led  away].  Good-bye,  Olof! 
Take  care  of  my  daughter,  and  don't  ever  forget  the  great 
Whitsunday ! 


122  MASTER  OLOF 

Constable.  Master  Olof,  you  are  a  young  man  who  has 
been  led  astray.  The  King  will  pardon  you  for  the  sake  of 
your  youth,  but  as  a  safeguard  he  demands  a  retraction 
wherein  you  take  back  whatever  you  have  ventured  beyond 
and  against  his  orders. 

Olof.  Then  the  King  is  still  in  need  of  me  ? 

Constable.  There  are  many  more  who  need  you,  but 
don't  rely  on  his  mercy  until  you  have  fulfilled  his  condi- 
tion. Here  is  the  King's  warrant.  In  a  moment  your  fetters 
may  be  shed,  if  so  be  your  will,  but  it  will  be  just  as  easy 
to  tear  up  this  sheet  of  paper. 

Olof.  One  who  contents  himself  with  500  ducats  is  not 
likely  to  care  very  much  for  a  retraction — 

Constable.  That  is  a  lie!  The  headsman  is  waiting  for 
you.  But  pray  listen  to  a  few  words  from  an  old  man.  I, 
too,  have  been  young,  and  moved  by  strong  passions.  They 
belong  to  youth;  but  those  passions  are  meant  to  be  killed. 
I  did  as  you  do.  I  went  around  telling  the  truth,  and  all 
I  got  in  return  was  ingratitude,  or,  at  the  best,  a  smile  of 
derision.  I,  too,  wanted  to  build  a  little  heaven  here  on 
earth — (speaking  with  marked  emphasis)  of  course,  on  other 
foundations  than  yours — but  soon  I  came  to  my  senses, 
and  the  chimeras  were  sent  packing.  I  have  no  desire  to 
make  you  out  a  man  wishing  to  gain  notoriety  by  getting 
himself  talked  about — I  don't  believe  anything  of  the  kind. 
You  are  moved  by  good  intentions,  but  they  are  such 
as  must  cause  harm.  Your  blood  is  hot,  and  it  blinds  you 
because  you  exercise  no  self-control.  You  preach  freedom, 
and  you  are  plunging  thousands  into  the  slavery  of  license. 
Retrace  your  steps,  young  man,  and  make  atonement  for 
your  errors !  Restore  what  you  have  torn  down,  and  your 
fellow-men  will  bless  you! 


ACT  FIFTH  123 

Olof  (agitated  to  a  point  of  desperation).  It  is  the  truth 
you  speak ;  I  hear  it,  but  who  taught  you  to  speak  like  that  ? 

Constable.  Experience — that  which  you  lack! 

Olof.  Can  I  have  lived  and  fought  for  a  lie?  Must  I  now 
declare  my  whole  youth  and  the  best  part  of  my  manhood 
lost,  useless,  wasted  ?  Oh,  let  me  rather  die  together  with 
my  mistake! 

Constable.  You  should  have  broken  loose  from  your 
dreams  earlier.  But  calm  yourself!  Your  life  is  still  ahead 
of  you.  The  past  has  been  a  school — hard,  to  be  sure,  but 
all  the  more  wholesome.  Hitherto  you  have  given  your 
life  to  whims  and  follies.  Now  you  have  some  inkling  of 
what  reality  demands  of  you.  Outside  that  door  your  cred- 
itors are  waiting  with  their  claims.  Here  are  their  bills. 
The  clergy  of  the  young  Church  demand  that  you  live 
to  finish  what  you  have  begun  so  splendidly.  The  City 
Corporation  demands  its  secretary  for  the  Council.  The 
congregation  demands  its  shepherd.  The  children  of  the 
confirmation  class  demand  their  teacher.  Those  are  your 
legal  creditors.  But  there  is  one  more  waiting  outside,  to 
whom  perhaps  you  owe  more  than  to  all  the  rest,  and 
who  yet  demands  nothing  at  all — :your  young  wife.  You 
have  torn  her  from  her  father's  side  and  set  her  adrift  in 
the  storm.  You  have  broken  down  her  childhood  faith 
and  filled  her  mind  with  restlessness.  Your  reckless  deeds 
have  goaded  the  brutal  mob  into  driving  her  out  of  her 
own  home.  Yet  she  does  not  even  demand  your  love:  all 
she  asks  of  you  is  permission  to  spend  a  life  of  suffering 
by  your  side. — Now  you  can  see  that  we,  too,  give  a 
little  consideration  to  other  people,  although  you  call  us 
selfish.  —  Let  me  open  this  door,  which  will  lead  you  back 
into  the  world.  Discipline  your  heart  before  it  hardens, 


i24  MASTER  OLOF 

and  thank  God  for  granting  you  more  time  to  work  for 
mankind. 

Olof  (breaking  into  tears).  I  am  lost ! 

(Constable  gives  a  sign  to  the  Headsman, who  removes  the  fet- 
ters and  the  garb  of  penitence  from  Olof;  then  the  Constable 
opens  the  door  to  the  sacristy,  and  delegates  from  the  lords,  the 
clergy,  and  the  city  guilds  enter.) 

Constable.  Olof  Pedersson,  formerly  pastor  of  the  city 
church  at  Stockholm,  do  you  hereby  repent  of  your  mis- 
deeds and  retract  what  you  have  said  beyond  and  against 
the  King's  order?  Do  you  declare  your  willingness  to  keep 
your  oath  to  the  sovereign  of  this  realm,  and  to  serve  him 
faithfully? 

( Olof  remains  silent.  Lars  Pedersson  and  Christine  approach 
him,  while  many  of  those  present  make  pleading  gestures.) 

Olof  (in  a  cold  and  determined  voice).  Yes ! 

Constable.  In  the  name  of  the  King,  I  set  you  free ! 
(Olof  and  Christine  embrace.  A  number  of  persons  come  for- 
ward to  press  his  hand  and  utter  words  of  congratulation^) 

Olof  (in  the  same  cold  voice).  Before  I  leave  this  room, 
let  me  be  alone  a  moment  with  my  God.  I  need  it!  Once 
upon  a  time  I  struck  the  first  blow  right  here,  and  here — 

Lars.  Right  here  you  have  won  your  greatest  victory 
this  very  day ! 
(All  leave  the  room  except  Olof,  who  falls  on  his  knees.} 

Enter  Vilhelm  cautiously.  He  looks  very  much  surprised  at  see- 
ing Olof  alone  and  free. 

Vilhelm.  I  come  to  bid  you  farewell,  Master  Olof,  before 
you  pass  on  to  another  life. 

Olof  (rising).  You  have  not  deserted  me,  Vilhelm!  Help 


ACT  FIFTH  125 

me,  then,  to  mourn  those  happy  moments  of  my  youth  that 
are  now  nothing  but  a  memory ! 

Vilhelm.  Before  you  die  I  want  to  thank  you  for  all 
that  you  have  done  for  us.  It  was  I  who  gave  you  those 
flowers,  which  you  haven't  noticed. — They  have  been 
trampled  on,  I  see.  I  wanted  to  bring  you  a  reminder  of 
the  days  when  we  were  playing  under  the  lindens  in  the 
convent  close  at  Strangnas.  I  thought  it  might  do  you  good 
to  hear  that  we  have  never  thanked  God,  as  you  said  we 
would, because  you  didn't  return  to  us.  We  have  never  for- 
gotten you,  for  it  was  you  who  relieved  us  of  those  cruel 
penances,  and  it  was  you  who  flung  open  the  heavy  con- 
vent doors  and  gave  us  back  our  freedom  and  the  blue  sky 
and  the  happiness  of  living.  Why  you  must  die,  we  do  not 
know,  but  you  could  never  do  anything  wrong.  And  if  you 
die  because  you  have  rendered  help  to  some  of  those  that 
were  oppressed,  as  they  tell  us,  then  you  should  not  be 
sorry,  although  it  hurts  very,  very  much.  Once  you  told  us 
how  Hus  was  burned  because  he  had  dared  to  tell  the 
truth  to  those  in  power.  You  told  us  how  he  went  to  the 
stake  and  joyfully  commended  himself  into  the  hands  of 
God,  and  how  he  prophesied  about  the  swan  that  should 
come  singing  new  songs  in  praise  of  awakened  freedom. 
That 's  the  way  I  have  thought  that  you  would  meet  your 
death — with  your  head  thrown  back,  and  your  eyes  toward 
the  sky,  and  the  people  crying:  "So  dies  a  witness!" 
(  Olof  leans  against  the  pillory,  his  face  showing  how  the  words 
of  Vilhelm  strike  home  to  him.} 

Gert  (his  voice  heard  from  a  distant  part  of  the  church). 
Renegade ! 
(Olof  sinks  down  overwhelmed  at  the  foot  of  the  pillory.} 


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Translated  from  the  Danish  by  OSCAR  JAMES  CAMPBELL,  JR.,  and 
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